


Strand D

by PotionMastersBitch



Category: NCIS
Genre: Age Play, Age Regression/De-Aging, Infantilism, Non-Sexual Age Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-10-29 22:20:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 41,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17816582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionMastersBitch/pseuds/PotionMastersBitch
Summary: When Jethro inadvertently ingests a particular virus that makes him think he's years younger than he actually is, it's up to Jackson to look after him until it either wears off or an antidote is found. Which, having done it before, would not be quite so hard were it not for those with a vendetta wanting to get back at Jethro.





	1. Chapter 1

            Having just spent a hellish fortnight in assisting Jethro and Co in their fervored attempts to capture a domestic terrorist with a marked propensity toward crating horrendous mind-altering substances, Ducky found he was more than just a little glad to be finished with his autopsy of the half-mad perpetrator. Because whilst Tobias Plaskett’s biological warfare had already been more than adequate enough to earn the condemnation of the entire nation, his further depravity in trying to hack off the head of a distracted Anthony DiNozzo with a rusty and tetanus-laden axe had all but earned him an admittedly brutal, yet well-deserved, death at the hands of one enraged Jethro Gibbs via violent bludgeoning with a large stone.

            “Well, Jimmy.” Ducky hummed, giving their work a cursory second-glance. “I dare say our work with Mr. Plaskett is done. Be a good lad, would you, and put him on some ice until the city comes to collect him.”

            Glancing down with abject and uncharacteristic disgust upon the mutilated corpse that had once housed the spirit of a man who had caused numerous and ghastly paranoia-fueled suicided with his wanton drugging of anyone unlucky enough to get within five feet of him, namely the fifteen unfortunate naval officers who had taken to jogging in the same area, Jimmy scrunched up his nose and was none to gentle as he irreverently pushed the battered body unto a gurney for transport to the freezer.

            “I’m putting him in the moldy freezer.” The disgruntled Jimmy cautioned. “He doesn’t deserve to be put next to his victims.”

            “That’s quite fine by me.” Ducky readily agreed. “I dare say Mr. Plaskett hadn’t earned the privilege to be held in comfort.”

            Despite having been the first person to make a clear decision as to where they might store their deceased terrorist until the city came to collect him for a basic burial, the initial consensus by the field agents that he be chucked into a dumpster having been immediately dismissed by both Vance and himself, Jimmy nodded heartily along to Ducky’s agreeance and proudly stalked off with their unwelcome visitor toward the seldom-used freezer the agents were keen on using for the concealment of gossip or, in the case of Tony, experiments not exactly sanctioned by his employer.  

            “Well now,” Ducky muttered aloud, glancing in distaste upon the dirtied autopsy table his latest visitor had so hastily vacated, “A quick washdown of you, and I shall soon be on my way home for a nice cup of well-deserved tea.”

              And, thus pleasing thoughts firmly implanted within his mind, Ducky began to attack the bloodied autopsy table with gusto, his fervor for a soothing spot of chai more than just a little effective in staving off the majority of the nausea that usually encompassed an autopsy so brutal. In fact, so effective was the promise of tea and the opportunity to finally delve into the pages of the book he had purchased weeks ago, that even his aging bones did not protest in their usual fashion as he methodically scrubbed away at the soiled metal with an industrial-strength disinfectant and kneeled to tend to the edges.

            “Shouldn’t you be making the Autopsy Gremlin do that?” A familiar voice asked from behind.

            Narrowly resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the irreverent manner in which his surrogate son was being referred to, Ducky took a calming breath and rose, rather slowly, back to standing.

            “Jimmy is currently accompanying our latest visitor to his temporary lodgings.” Ducky patiently explained, idly peeling away a chip of paint from the base of the table. “And I’ll thank you _not_ to refer to my assistant in so depreciative a manner.”

            Rather than offer up a polite apology in order to make amends with the man whose child he had just minorly insulted, Anthony DiNozzo scoffed loudly and mumbled something about dumpster burials beneath his breath before afterwards deigning to speak more clearly for the benefit of his somewhat unenthusiastic audience.

            “I’ll try and remember that, Duck.” Tony dismissively avowed. “But, for right now, we kind of have a bigger problem to deal with.”

            Immediately made concerned by the tone of voice in which the proverbial playboy used to announce such an ominous statement, as he had never before heard that particular man use such a grave inflection, Ducky spun immediately around to face his unannounced visitor and was promptly and thoroughly thrown off-guard to espy a very harried Tony with a uncharacteristically shy and fidgety Jethro lurking behind his back with a markedly and suspiciously nervous expression splayed across his horrifically filthy face.

            “Jethro!” Ducky exclaimed, thoroughly shocked at such a visage. “Why on Earth have you not washed your face yet? Do you wish to receive a bacterial infection in your eyes and throat?”

            Although the issued rebuke had been very mild in nature, indeed, the clearly befuddled Jethro looked upon him with great astonishment and horror, his vivid blue eyes all but as wide as saucers as he nibbled nervously at his bottom lip and desperately tugged at the sleeve of his Senior Field Agent’s shirt in a silent bid for assistance.

            “I trouble?”

            Rather poorly concealing a grimace of disgust as his troubled employer shamelessly stained the sleeve of his white dress-shirt with unforgivably filthy fingers, the likes of which were coated in a very foul-smelling substance that one could only assume was human bile, Tony stiffened awkwardly but nonetheless allowed the childish tugging to go on without verbal protest as he leveled a rather pointed expression at Ducky before turning back to the Marine currently demanding his attention.

            “Didn’t I already say that you weren’t in trouble?” Tony asked with a smile, gently extracting the grubby fingers from his shirt.

            Looking rather put out at the sudden loss of security that physically touching his agent had provided, Jethro blinked rapidly several times as his bottom lip began to wobble and looked dangerously near to tears before Tony quickly intervened and seized the emotional man’s hand with one of his own. An action which, while admittedly simple, seemed to almost immediately soothe the former Marine to such a degree that tears no longer seemed quite so imminent.

            “But I yelled.” Jethro sniffled, swiping at his bloodshot eyes with his grimy fingers.

            Quickly snatching such an offending hand in his own, as even one so carefree as Tony could not fail to realize the danger foreign material could present to unprotected eyes, the slightly bewildered Italian smiled feebly and strove ardently to put his boss’s fears to rest.

            “Well…Tim shouldn’t have dropped that clipboard on your fingers.” Tony hastily dismissed, giving the fingers in his grasp a brief squeeze. “He’ll be more careful next time.”

            Thinking that it was, perhaps, a veritable blessing for young Timothy McGee to have not been faced with the full extent of his boss’s usual anger after assaulting said curmudgeon’s fingers in such a clumsy manner, as Jethro could be quite the terror whilst on a case with so high a stress-load, Ducky feebly subdued the small smile he wanted to display and, instead, returned promptly to the business at hand as he tried to ascertain the cause behind his friend’s sudden odd behavior.

            “No trouble?” Jethro repeated, clearly very preoccupied with just such a thought.

            Looking as if he would rather be a prisoner in Guantanamo Bay than tend to his clearly addled employer, but otherwise too considerate to make such a fact known via verbal expression, Tony sighed softly and closed his eyes for a spell before answering.

            “No.” The Senior Field Agent calmly assured. “You’re not in trouble. Not at all.”

            Appearing as if he wanted to do nothing more than believe his favorite agent on such an important matter, but otherwise far too fearful and nervous of the older gentleman who had just so recently scolded him to believe that he wasn’t in _some_ sort of legitimate trouble, Jethro nibbled fretfully at his filthy bottom lip and wriggled subsequently wriggled himself even further behind Tony’s back.

            “Duck mad?” Jethro fussed, his deep voice sounding impossibly small.

             “No, Ducky isn’t mad.” Tony patiently soothed, craning his neck to smile warmly into the face of his employer despite the marked awkwardness of the situation. “So, let’s get that grimy face washed off, hmm?”

            Seeming to have only understood a slight portion of what had just been said to him, Jethro blinked blankly a few times before tentatively freeing one of his filthy hands from Tony’s flimsy grasp to touch his already unfathomably grubby face.

            “Face.” Jethro parroted, patting one of his cheeks.

             “Yes, Jethro. _Your face_.” Ducky agreed, finally feeling comfortable enough to jump into the situation. “It’s full of filth and needs a good washing.”

            Thus declared, in as gentle and firm a voice as he could manage, Ducky subsequently tapped the autopsy table he had just washed and beckoned forth his friend with one crooked finger waggled in his direction.

            “Come now, Jethro, take a seat.” Ducky encouraged, with as much patience as he could muster. “We’ll have that face taken care of in but a moment.”

            Clearly not at all enthused about the idea of having his face washed, or perhaps simply just as disinclined to seat himself on what might be an admittedly hard and cold seat, Jethro smiled politely from behind his agent but shook his head nonetheless.

             “No fanks.”

            Sincerely hoping that his closest of friends would not prove to be as stubborn in this state as he was when in perfect health, as really he had no great desire to enter into an argument that would be beneath the dignity of them both, Ducky took a deep breath and counted to ten before making his reply.

            “Jethro,” Ducky said firmly, “While I appreciate your good manners, I’m afraid my earlier request was quite unnegotiable.” And, sensing that such a choice in vocabulary might very well prove indecipherable for his friend at the moment, he quickly translated: “Your face needs cleared of that dirt, and soon. You could become quite ill if it’s allowed to remain any longer.”

            And although Ducky already believed some very significant damage had already been done to his friend’s person, given the remarkably uncharacteristic change in behaviors and temperament said Marine was currently displaying, he charitably left that little tidbit out of his lecture as he pulled out a pack of wetwipes from the pocket of his jacket.

            “Ducky is right.” Tony helpfully assisted. “And besides, you look like a hobo.”

            Earning for himself an amused giggle with such an astute comparison, Tony grinned widely in return and shrewdly seized upon the opportunity to compel a suddenly complacent Jethro to wash his face whilst said man’s fear had, at least for the moment, temporarily abated.

            “You wouldn’t be so amused if you looked in the mirror.” The Senior Field Agent teased, tapping the autopsy table with his long fingers. “So, hop up.”

            Evidently just as obedient to Tony in his present state as was Tony to _him_ when in his _usual_ state, Jethro hastily moved to comply but very nearly toppled right off the edge of the sterilized table as his newfound clumsiness subsequently made itself known. Fortunately for all parties involved, as well as the freshly mopped floor, Tony was very quick to steady his boss and lull him into a much more acceptable stillness via the aid of a small packet of M&M’s he found in the pocket of his jacket.

            “There’s a good lad.” Ducky praised, gently extracting the bag of sweets from his friend’s hand. “You can have those back when we’re finished.”

            Despite looking as if he wanted to do nothing more than protest against the unfairness of having his candy stolen away from him, clearly not understanding why he ought not to put _anything_ in his mouth until his fingers were clean, Ducky foolishly chose to take Jethro’s silent sullenness as an invitation to approach him with one of the cleansing wipes. Which, admittedly, was quite the foolish thing to have done in hindsight. For just as soon as the moisture-filled square came into contact with said man’s dirty cheek, all pandemonium broke lose as Jethro threw a tantrum fit to put any Victoria had thrown to utter shame.

            “I DO!” Jethro growled, angrily seizing the wipe away from Ducky with all the irrationality of a toddler and, unfortunately, all the strength of a grown man as well. “I DO!”

            Although Ducky didn’t hold much stock in allowing a tantrum to go rewarded, as his one and only experience with doing so had led his granddaughter to believe that crocodile tears were the perfect way to avoid a trip to the dentist, he nonetheless acquiesced to the larger toddler and handed a few more squares over to his person for good measure. Because as much as it irked him greatly to see the smug look upon his friend’s face at such a surrender, such an aggravating visage was by far the better option when one considered the alterative might be a split lip or broken jaw.

            “I do.” Jethro promptly declared, seeming quite proud of himself as he moved the wipe to his grimy face.

            Reluctantly allowing the unwell man a good two minutes to wash his face by himself, a more than gracious period of time wherein said man had only managed to push the grime around in circles rather than remove it, Ducky rather unceremoniously plucked the wipes from the Marine’s dirty hands and firmly, without warning, began to scrub away at the besmirched face with only as much firmness as needed. An act, whilst admittedly unpleasant, seemed to all but be the end of the world for an addled Jethro – as he wailed loudly in response to the assault on his face and struck out a grubby hand in his direction just as Jimmy stumbled back into the room with a now-empty gurney.


	2. Chapter 2

 

            Quickly catching the offending arm before it could come into contact with his face, much less break his glasses, Ducky looked firmly into Jethro’s eyes and gave the fingers in his grasp a tight squeeze before speaking as sternly as possible over his friend’s whimpered and whined protests.

            “ _No, Jethro_. _”_ He reprimanded, quite sharply. “This behavior is unacceptable.”

            Grimacing deeply as Jethro seemed to take great umbrage with having his arm held hostage in such an unceremonious fashion, and gave a shriek shrill enough put a banshee out of business as a result, Ducky closed his eyes for several moments and counted to ten within his head before responding.

            “I have had quite enough of this caterwauling, Jethro.” Ducky rebuked, not at all as kind as he might have been. “And if it does not – “

            Prematurely cut off from his lecture as Jethro howled afresh in response to such mild discipline, Ducky sighed loudly and began to contemplate what he might have done in order for karmic justice to deem him deserving of the task of soothing a man-sized toddler.

            “Duck,” Tony intervened, sensing his agitation, “I got this.”

            More than happily surrendering his position to someone much more willing to accept the terms it engendered, namely ear-penetrating howls, Ducky calmly stepped aside and moved to join his very confused pseudo-son as Tony gingerly took his place and worked at the Herculean task of calming his distraught boss.

            “I take it he’s been infected by Strand D?” Jimmy quipped, immediately looking ten times more weary.

            Glancing in mild discomfort upon the scene currently taking place at the autopsy table, wherein Jethro was currently clinging quite tightly to his favorite agent and wailing loudly into his ear every monosyllabic complain he had against the world, Ducky sighed loudly and shook his head.

            “I’m afraid that all signs point to that being the case, unfortunately.”

            Never one to take anything his beloved mentor said as anything other than sheer gospel, as well as seen for himself the sight of the formidable Marine sobbing like a wounded child over his coworker’s shoulder, Jimmy nodded sagely and quite purposely turned himself away from the scene as Tony awkwardly began to pat at Jethro’s back in an attempt to soothe him.

            “What do we do?” Jimmy inquired, understandably looking to his father for answers.

            “That’s a very good question, lad.” Ducky opined. “A very good question, indeed.”

            Because whilst a trip to the hospital would eventually be necessary, in order to provide researchers with blood samples to examine, such a jaunt was not outright immediately necessary where pertained Jethro’s health. In fact, quite the _opposite_ might even prove true were they to try and coerce the clearly troubled man into so scary an environment as a hospital of phlebologists lab. For medical and chemical restrains aside, both medical personal and Jethro would surely be forced to contend with several bruises before an examination could even begin. And, finally, Ducky just didn’t much fancy the idea of inflecting such a thankless chore upon himself or any of the other agents either, for that matter, as no doubt they were just as exhausted as he and more in danger of being retaliated against in the future should their employer take any umbrage to the way he was treated by them while afflicted.

            “Maybe we should call his dad.” Jimmy suggested, sounding somewhat doubtful.

            Because as much as the entire team understood that Jethro and his father were currently somewhat estranged, Jimmy’s idea did, at the moment, seem like the best course of action.

            “I’ll give him a call.” Ducky agreed, fetching his phone free from his pocket. “But, in the meantime, I want you to get yourself something to eat. Your blood sugars are probably all out of sorts by now.”

            Although Jimmy looked as if he would much rather remain loyally by his father’s side, he knew better than to disobey so reasonable a request and reluctantly took his leave of the room after a timid request he be called should his assistance be needed in any fashion. A stipulation Ducky more than happily complied with, even if he didn’t fully intend to faithfully comply with its tenants.

            _“Please,”_ Ducky thought, rapidly tapping away at the numbers on the screen of his phone, _“Let Jackson be at home.”_

            Thankfully for everyone involved, especially Jethro, Jackson answered after only the second or third ring – such well-mannered promptness delighting Ducky even more than it usually did given the circumstance.

            “Hello?” The friendly voice on the other end of the line hummed.

            Feeling somewhat guilty for what news he was about to relay, as it was quite evident Jackson had been having a good day based on the tone of his voice, Ducky frowned slightly but nonetheless went about carrying out the conversation that needed to happen.

            “Hello, Jackson.” He reluctantly began. “This Ducky…Jethro’s friend.”

            Either failing to notice the tense tone behind those words, or elsewise opting to ignore them for the moment, Jackson did not so much as miss a beat before replying.

            “Right. The morgue one.” Jackson humorously summarized. “How the hell are you?”

              “I’m fine, Jackson.” Ducky swiftly assured. “But I’m afraid there has been a rather troubling incident at the yard.”

             Suddenly seeming to pick up on seriousness of such an unexpected call, Jackson remained quiet for the unconscionable length of three seconds before responding.

            “Is everything alright, Ducky?”

             Taking a moment to ponder how best to approach delivering the news, as he didn’t want to cause any undue strain to a man who had hypertension, Ducky anxiously drummed his fingers against the fabric of his trousers and impatiently waited for his brain to conjure up something even remotely suitable.

            “I don’t mean to alarm you, but I do believe we have a situation that needs your – “

             “Is that Leroy howling!?”

            Unable to successfully deny such an allegation, as Jethro was (indeed) howling once again after scratching his fingers on the keyring Tony had given him to play with, Ducky grimaced and once more thought regrettably upon the hot cup of chamomile tea he was currently being kept away from.

            “I don’t believe there is any need for panic, Jackson, but – “

            “That _is_ him!” Jackson interrupted, parental panic taking over. “What happened!? Is he okay!?”

             Having mistakenly believed Jethro to have inherited his fearsome ferocity from his mother, Ducky was somewhat taken aback to hear the very familiar, and dangerous, growl in the usually jolly Jackson’s voice.

             “Please, if you would just let me explain – “

            “Well!?” Jackson barked, but half-a-second later.

            Prudently sensing that it would not be wise to scold a concerned parent for their poor phone etiquette, least of all a _Gibbs_ , Ducky snuffed down whatever clever reprimand he had been prepared to give and settled, instead, for a bit of charitable forgiveness.

            “You wouldn’t have happened to hear the news about Tobias Plaskett, would you?” He inquired, hoping that such would be the case.

             “That weirdo going around poisoning people?!” Jackson demanded, deep voice rising several octaves. “He didn’t do anything to my kid, did he?!”

            Unable to assuage the worried father with the somewhat inaccurate claim that nothing _serious_ had happened, as no parent on earth would accept a poisoning as being something minor, Ducky grimaced slightly and wondered how best to deliver the news without causing any undue panic.

            “I fear that is the exactly the case, but – “

            “WHAT?!”      

            Thinking that Jethro had, perhaps, also inherited his father’s set of lungs as said man’s exclamation nearly punctured his eardrum, Ducky warily held his cellphone away from his ear for a spell until the yelling on the other line of the phone died down to a level much more conducive to a conversation.

            “Jackson,” Ducky said, patiently recapturing the panicked man’s attention, “While Jethro has, indeed, been poisoned, it was with a far less dangerous strain than Plaskett normally liked to employ. You’ll find that Strand D, while quite potent, isn’t at all a deadly – “

            “Strand D?” Jackson interrupted, clearly too troubled to have heard the rest of the conversation.

            Although there was nothing on earth that so could aggravate him then being interrupted, aside from the existence of the Great Colonizers also known as the British, Ducky successfully managed to stifle down his annoyance to the point that it was nearly undetectable when he responded.

            “Yes, you see, there was actually _several_ strands that Plaskett was working on – “

            “Just tell me what’s wrong with my kid. _Please_.”

            Despite not being exactly qualified to sufficiently describe Jethro’s ailment in all its entirety, as even the best of researchers weren’t exactly sure of anything at this point, Ducky ripped the proverbial bandage off and explained the situation as best as he could.

            “Jethro is not in any immediate danger, Jackson, nor is he in any great danger of death of illness.” Ducky promptly reassured. “I am afraid, however, that the strand of poison he managed to get into his blood stream was one that makes…well…one that makes a person think and behave as if they’re younger than they actually are.”

            Taking several long moments to register such an explanation, a more than reasonable reaction when confronted with such startling news, Jackson opened and closed his mouth with a wet _pop_ several times before finally managing to get any words out.

            “How…How young does Leroy think he is right now?”

             Sneaking a quick glance over at the autopsy table in order to formulate a more educated guess, Ducky was graced with the somewhat amusing sight of Tony entertaining his employer with what was clearly a very rousing game of peek-a-boo.

            “ _Very_ young, I believe.” Ducky opined.

             “But he’s _okay_?” Jackson fussed, clearly still out of his mind with worry.

             Immediately drawn into feelings of compassion and sympathy for the troubled parent, as he had once gone two entire days without any sleep when Jimmy had been hospitalized for blood sugars that had stubbornly refused to lower, Ducky did his best to relieve his conversational partner of such great worry.

            “Jethro ought to be just fine.” Ducky encouraged. “In fact, four others have been hit with this exact same strand a few weeks ago and they all seem to be doing just fine barring the obvious. One even seems to be completely cured, if workplace gossip can be believed.”

             Muttering what might have been a grateful prayer on the other end of the line, Jackson sounded near the point of relieved tears when he finally responded to Ducky’s small bit of encouragement.

            “Let me talk to him.”

            “Of course.” Ducky obliged. “Just give me one moment.”

            And, thus obliged, Ducky pulled the cellphone away from his ear and very gingerly began to approach the autopsy table so as not to startle the newly-calmed Jethro that sat upon it playing with the badge his favorite employee had given him.

            “Your father would like to speak with you.” Ducky encouraged, feeling slightly guilty as Jethro cowered away from him.

            Graciously stepping in to assist with the sudden standoff, Tony gently extracted the phone Ducky’s fingers and moved the rectangle up to a very confused Jethro’s ear.

            “It’s a phone.” Tony explained, when his father-figure remained stubbornly silent. “Say hello to your dad.”

             Despite looking as if Tony had just suggested the sky was purple, rather than blue, Jethro faithfully gave the assertion a little test by warbling a question into the phone.

            “Daddy?”

             


	3. Chapter 3

More than just a little troubled by the current events so recently relayed unto him by his son’s friend, as he had started that day believing a great deal of fishing could be successfully accomplished, Jackson nearly collapsed unto his sofa in a surplus of emotions as he heard the very distinct, yet slightly slurred, sound of his kid’s voice coming from the other end of the phone.

“Daddy?”

Shamelessly unable to keep from smirking at the usage of such a childish moniker, as Leroy had not called him by such a title since he was _eight_ , Jackson felt some of the fear churning away at his gut abate as the realization that his son could not be in any serious pain or discomfort (given the easy way said man was currently conversing) gradually occurred to him.

            “Hey, Grizzly-Bear.” Jackson greeted, taking great care to sound much calmer than he felt. “How are you feeling, hm?”

            “Daddy!” Leroy squealed, apparently _very_ delighted to discover he could talk to somebody through a large hunk of plastic. “Daddy!”

             Cringing slightly at the unnecessarily loud volume with which his son spoke, but nonetheless unwilling to scold Leroy for his harmless enthusiasm, Jackson pulled the phone a few inches away from his ear and patiently waited for his son to stop repeating his name like a frenzied parrot.

            “Yeah, it’s me.” Jackson fondly agreed, wriggling some socks unto his feet. “How are you feeling?”

             Despite Leroy’s former toddlerhood fondness for warbling words at an impressive and endless stream, Jackson did not harbor any delusions at all that his boy would come up with something highly intelligible in response to his question. Because while his vocabulary _had_ been quite impressive at that age, by statistical standards, he had never been so advanced as to actually assign any accurate meaning to the words he babbled – much less the fragmented sentences.

            “Boo!” Leroy yelled, immediately proving Jackson’s assumption correct.  

             “You’re playing peek-a-boo?” Jackson knowledgably inquired, slipping his feet into his boots.

            Taking the time in which Jethro struggled to formulate an answer to lace up his boots, Jackson used his shoulder to hold the phone up to his ear and deftly worked his fingers through the process of securing his footwear to his feet.

            “Ony.” Leroy finally mumbled, his words only slightly decipherable.

            Only narrowly resisting the urge to request that his child remove his fingers from his mouth, as such a stubborn former habit was almost certainly the cause behind the garbled speech, Jackson fumbled around the couch cushions for the key to his truck and half-heartedly gave a reply to his child.

            “You’re playing with Tony, huh?” Jackson murmured, getting on his knees to search beneath the couch for his keys. “Are you winning?”

             “No!” Leroy warbled happily, confirming that he was, in fact, actually winning.

            “That’s great, Grizzly-Bear.” Jackson encouraged, moving his fingers about the dusty underside of his couch. “Good job!”

            Although Jackson was one hundred percent positive of Ducky’s diagnosis by that point in time, he became all the more assured of such a fact by Leroy’s subsequent happy declaration. For as much as said man had possessed a remarkable vocabulary whist a toddler, so to had he boasted ownership of a collection of much-favored words. The most revered one being, of course, the word he was so currently fixed upon at the moment.

            “No!” Jethro happily warbled, exceedingly delighted.

            Sensing that no conversation of any significance was going to take place any time soon, Jackson simply listened to his son ramble on about whatever nonsensical grievance he had with Ducky as he, himself, searched desperately for his frequently-vanishing keys.

            _“Tony was right.”_ Jackson groused inwardly. _“I really ought to get a lanyard.”_

             Not, of course, that he would ever admit such a thing to his grandchild, but still, the kid had a point.

            “Daddy!” Leroy suddenly cried, causing Jackson to sharply bang his head against the frame of the couch right as his fingers brushed against the keys. “Daddy!?”

            Understanding that it would be perfectly unfair to reprimand his child for squawking so loudly into the phone, as he had no doubt given Leroy the impression he had been hanged up upon what with his infrequent humming in reply to whatever was being said at the moment, Jackson cursed silently inside the safety of his head and rubbed at the sore spot on his forehead before feeling recovered enough to speak without any bitterness.

            “Daddy’s still here.” Jackson quickly assured. “He just got distracted is all. But you keep playing with Tony, alright? Daddy will be there in just a few hours to get you.”  

            “Mama?” Leroy innocently inquired, sounding hopeful enough to break his father’s heart.

            Seeing as how such a childish request possessed all the same effects of a punch being unceremoniously landed in his gut, Jackson physical recoiled and helplessly out a soft _off_ in response to the question. Because even after all those years without Anne by his side, after all those _decades_ , her untimely death was a loss he still felt as keenly as if it had happened yesterday.

            “Mama is…Mama…Mama is taking a nap.” Jackson fibbed, not at all prepared to discuss the death of his wife with their child. “It’s just…It’s just Daddy who’s coming to get you, alright?”

              Although Leroy had been raised with good enough manners to understand that protesting against such an idea would be the very height of rudeness, something neither his mother of father would have tolerated, the addled man couldn’t adequately keep the sadness and disappointment out of his voice when he responded.

            “No Mama.”

            “I know, I know.” Jackson commiserated, his own chest painfully tight. “But, if your good, maybe Daddy will let you have some soda on the way home, yeah?”

            For as silly as such a promise might seem to anyone who wasn’t fully aware of the situation at hand, the promise of a few clandestine sips of Dr. Pepper had always proved to a most effective bribe the very few occasions Leroy had come dangerously near to throwing a tantrum in public.

            “Soa!” Jethro babbled, mood instantly brightening with the distraction.

            “That’s right, baby boy.” Jackson encouraged. “So, you be good and Daddy will be there in no time!”

            Because come hell or high water, there was simply no conceivable way in which Jackson would take one minute longer than necessary in reaching his currently afflicted son.

            “Good.” Leroy agreed, very somberly assuring his father that he would be on his best behavior.

            “There we go!” Jackson encouraged, slipping a well-worn hat unto his head. “Now can you hand the phone back to Ducky?”

            Seeing as how Leroy had always been rather sensitive as a small child, an endearing characteristic he had not grown out of until his mother’s death, Jackson was not at all surprised to find his suggestion met with a small of toddlerhood drama.

            “Bye?” Leroy inquired, the words no doubt just as wobbly as his bottom lip.

             “No, no.” Jackson hastily reassured. “Daddy will talk to you again in just a moment. I just need to speak to Ducky first, is all.”  

             Almost immediately met with a silent confusion in response to such a length spiel, Jackson silently reprimanded himself for his own stupidity before simplifying his previous message to a more toddler-appropriate variety.

            “Leroy, hand the phone back to Ducky.” Jackson directed.

            “No.” Came the prompt reply, the word properly used as intended for the first time during their conversation.

            Promptly thrown off-guard by his child’s almost immediate refusal to do as requested, as Leroy had seldomly been outrightly defiant as a small child, Jackson spluttered on the quick sip of coffee he had stolen on his way out the door and stopped dead in his tracks.

            “ _Leroy Jethro Gibbs_ , _”_ Jackson began, “Give the – “

            Thankfully for the both of them, Jackson had not even been given time to finish his scolding before Ducky was on the other line once again.

            “Ah, Jackson.” Came the Scottish man’s voice, scarcely discernable above the sounds of Leroy’s renewed sobs. “What can I do for you?”

            Struggling to set aside all feelings of guilt as the sounds of his kid’s wailing began to increase in intensity, something was admittedly not very easy to do, Jackson bit down a sigh and answered the man on the other end of the phone as cheerfully as he could manage.

            “I just thought I’d let you know that I’ll be there in a few hours, alright?” Jackson informed, already climbing into his truck. “Can you keep an eye on Leroy until then?”

             “Of course!” Ducky readily acquiesced. “You need not even ask.”

             Obscenely relieved that he would have at least two responsible adults to look after his poisoned child until he arrived, as a young Jethro had never really done well when left to his own devices in an unfamiliar place, Jackson relaxed against the seat of his truck and felt a notable amount of weight leaving his shoulders.

            “Thank you, Ducky.” Jackson warmly expressed, placing his keys in the ignition.

            “Now, Now.” The loquacious Medical Examiner chided. “There is no need for such unnecessary thanks. Jethro is my friend, of course I would look out for him.”

            “All the same, I appreciate it.” Jackson assured, cranking his engine into life with one swift motion. “I know that Leroy can be a little bit of a…handful…at the best of times, but when he was little, well, he was just the sweetest little thing.”

And while nearly every parent on earth believed _their_ child to be the best-behaved, a more than reasonable phenomenon when one considered how strong the bonds between parent and child could be, Jackson _had_ been given the satisfaction of all the neighbors, as well as Leroy’s teachers, backing him up in the belief that his son really was an angel amongst all the perpetually-naughty boys Stillwater had been afflicted with that decade.

            “Of course.” Ducky politely agreed, his tone betraying his disbelief.

            “It probably doesn’t seem like it now because he’s tired.” Jackson proffered, unable to keep from his defending his son. “Maybe you could try and put him down for a nap?”

            Not at all failing to hear the significance of the brief silence that followed his request, as it was a sound chockfull of great reluctance, Jackson braced himself for the refusal he was sure to follow but otherwise kept his subsequent disappointment, and sigh, to himself as he piloted truck out unto the quiet streets of Stillwater.

            “I don’t believe Jethro and I are on the best of terms right now.” Ducky gingerly informed. “It seems he took great umbrage with me washing his face.”

             “Yeah.” Jackson smirked. “He never did like getting his face cleaned.”

            Unless, of course, it was his uncle LJ offering to assist with such a thankless task.

             “Perhaps Anthony would have better luck than I?” Ducky suggested, perfectly willing to pass the buck unto someone else.

            Sensing no real harm in such a ploy, as Jackson had once had once been blessed with the amazing opportunity of watching Tony talk his way out of getting his ass beat by a large group of drunken powerlifters who had been offended when he protested against their treatment of a teenage waitress, Jackson all but immediately gave his consent.

            “It’s worth a shot.” He agreed. “Could I talk to Tony, real quick?”  

             “But of course.” Ducky readily obliged.

             Briefly parking himself at a dented stop sign as he patiently awaited the transferring of the cellphone, something that seemed to be made infinitely more difficult by the way in which Leroy was loudly, and tearfully, demanding possession of the phone for himself, Jackson ran a slightly bemused hand through his hair and silently counted his blessings that he was not the one who had to currently deal with an actively tantruming man-sized toddler.

            “Hey, Grandpa.” Tony finally greeted, after several minutes had passed.

            “Hey, Peacock.” Jackson responded. “How are you managing?”

             Having to wait the length of several seconds to respond, as Leroy had suddenly decided to take up ululating in response to his unfair treatment, Tony all but groaned his answer when he was finally able to respond.

            “I’m starting to think this is payback for all the gray hairs _I_ gave _dad_.”

             Unable to keep from chuckling aloud at such a keen observation, as Tony had even given _him_ several strands of white hair throughout the year, Jackson had need of several deep breaths before being recovered enough to adequately speak without being misunderstood.

            “Anne always said Leroy was _her_ payback.” Jackson fondly reminisced. “Why don’t you try putting him down for a nap, hm, that ought to keep him quiet for a spell.”

            Granted, of course, that there would be quite a lot of sleep-talking as the toddler’s overactive imagination worked to make itself known even in slumber. But, by far, a few incomprehensible mutterings about pink puppies and flying otters would be the much better alternative when faced with a howling child.

            “Uh…”

            “You’re putting a toddler down for a _nap_ , Tony, not trying to decipher a set of riddles from a megalomaniac.” Jackson patiently lectured.

            “And I _definitely_ prefer the latter.” Tony rapidly asserted. “A riddle can’t punch me in the face…although it _can_ give me the plague.”

            Not at all enjoying the irreverent way in which his grandson referred to his _own_ poisoning all those years ago, Jackson scowled and would have properly chewed the young man out had he not had more pressing matters at hand.

            “For _God’s sake_ ,” Jackson sighed, more exhausted then legitimately irritated. “Just find the boy someplace quiet to lay down for a while. And make sure he had _two_ blankets, he won’t sleep with just one.”

            Nor would he sleep with his boots on, but Jackson was almost certain his son would have no major qualms in informing someone of such a caveat and requesting assistance in their removal.

            “I don’t know if he’s going to be _willing_ to nap, Grandpa…he’s kind of very upset at the moment.”

            “Put him on the phone, Tony.” Jackson directed, not at all amused with his son’s abhorrent behavior. “I want a few words with him.”

            Hesitating long enough to make it quite clear that he didn’t much fancy the idea of sacrificing his beloved father-figure to a proverbial tongue-lashing, and groaning miserably upon the realization that he had no real choice in the matter if he didn’t wish to receive one for _himself_ , Tony muttered something that might have been a curse beneath his breath before bonelessly giving into the command he had so recently been given.

            “Give me ten seconds.” Tony requested, voice saturated with reluctance.

            “You have _three_.” Jackson amended, rapidly losing patience with _both_ members of his family.

            Finding it necessary to bite back an annoyed sigh as the sounds of an intergenerational squabble made itself heard through the speaker of his phone, Jackson gripped the steering wheel more firmly than necessary and silently willed away the headache that was threatening to form near his temples.

            “Daddy…?” Leroy tentatively questioned, finally complying with his son’s repeated requests to pick up the phone.

            “ _Leroy Jethro Gibbs_ ,” Jackson instantly rebuked, “You do _not_ holler like that!”

            And then, after allowing for a brief moment to let an appropriate amount of guilt settle into his son’s conscience, Jackson added, in much softer tones: “I think you need a nap, young man.”

            Although his declaration had most certainly _not_ been a suggestion, by any conceivable stretch of the imagination, Leroy almost immediately raised a protest against the idea of being put down for a nap.

            “No nap! No _wan!”_ Leroy snapped, acting out in a manner he never had before.

            Prudently calming himself with the reassurance that the nefarious Strand D was the probable cause behind such unpardonable behavior, as even at his _worst_ Leroy had never behaved so abominably, Jackson took a deep breath to steady himself and quickly nipped the misbehavior in the bud just as swiftly as it had arisen.

            “I didn’t _ask_ you what you wanted, I _told_ you that you needed to nap.” Jackson stated, using his firmest of voices. “Now, Tony is going to take you someplace nice and quiet, and you’re _going_ to lay down for a spell.”

            Receiving only a pitiable sniffle in response to such sudden strictness, Jackson’s heart clenched painfully and all but _forced_ him to make a slight modification to the terms his son found so odious.

            “Daddy can read you a story, if you like.” Jackson allowed, wishing to soften the blow of an impending nap time.

            Instantaneously brightening at such happy news, in a manner that might have alarmed him had he not been his father, Leroy trilled happily like a songbird before timidly offering forth a very mild request.

            “Who?”

            All but certain that he knew Dr. Seuss’s, “Horton Hears a Who,” by heart at that point in time, as _both_ Leroy and Kelly had been fixated upon it when small, Jackson happily voiced his approval for the book selection and earned for himself a happy squeal in response. But, before Jackson could so much as open his mouth again, much less recite from memory the verses of the storybook, his son made known another, more difficult, request he wished to be fulfilled.

            “Bear?” Leroy warbled.

            Thinking in abject distaste upon the prickly-furred plush bear LJ had purchased for Leroy when the boy was two, as the Amish-made toy had _arrived_ already stinking of the barn orders neither he nor Anne had ever been able to successfully wash out, Jackson cursed his seemingly persistent bad luck as he realized he would have to go spelunking in the basement to find whatever dark box he had stuffed the eyeless abomination into.

            “Bear…Bear went to work with me, today.” Jackson quickly supplied. “But, if your _very good_ , I’m sure Tony could find you another furry friend to sleep with.”

            Because, if he wasn’t most egregiously mistaken, Jackson was all but certain Leroy had once made mention of a small toybox they kept in the bullpen in the case should any children need to be formally interviewed.

            “Bert!” Leroy readily agreed, clearly _still_ knowing more on the subject than his father.

            “Sure.” Jackson heartily agreed. “Bert sounds like a _fine_ fellow to nap with.”

            Rather than agree with such an assertion, as it was not _Bear’s_ honor that needed defending, Leroy almost instantly voiced his request for the story he had been promised.

            “Who?”

            “Alright, alright.” Jackson placated, a fond smiling creeping up unto his face. “I’ll start the story if you go off with Tony.”

            Waiting until he heard the distinct sounds of feet being placed on the floor, as well as the murmured praise his grandson heaped upon his son for such compliance, Jackson cleared his throat and launched into his narration without any further delay.  

            “On the fifteenth of May, in the Jungle of Nool, in the heat of the day, in the cool of the pool, He was splashing…enjoying the jungle’s great joys…when Horton the elephant heard a small noise. So Horton stopped splashing. He looked toward the sounds. “That’s funny,” Thought Horton, “There’s no one around.” Then he heard it again! Just a very faint yelp, as if some tiny person were calling for help…”


	4. Chapter 4

            Although Tony was honestly willing to do _anything_ for his father-figure, barring perhaps the mutual drinking of the disgusting bourbon said man so favored, he could truthfully say that he had never thought that the _babysitting_ of such a gruff man would come into the equation. Because usual hazards of the job aside, there was just no way in _hell_ that anyone on the team could have ever accurately predicted a poison-induced regression of all things. And whilst said man-child _was_ admittedly well-behaved, when not presented with an unwanted face-washing or faced with the prospect of an unwelcomed nap, it as just so _unfathomably weird_ to find himself guiding his boss, by hand, through the bullpen and down into Abby’s lab.

            “Loud!”

            Shamefully unable to keep from grinning as Gibbs reacted to the sudden auditory-blast or rock music, as he actually stumbled a bit before placing his hands over his ears, Tony shook his head in mile amusement and gently steered the addled man forward by applying a slight pressure to one of his shoulders. A mild physical coaxing which, whilst relatively harmless, was all but ineffective when it came time to prevent an exceedingly-curious toddler from touching every expensive piece of equipment in sight. Because if Tony was not swatting one errant hand away from a microscope or box of slides, he was shooing yet another away from the chromatographs and fancy computers. A stern response Gibbs seemed to take in stride, with relatively few complaints, until Tony rather harshly slapped his fingers away from a brightly-colored power cord and seized one of his hands in his own.

            “Pitty!” Gibbs protested, gesturing at the thick cord. “Pitty!”

            Keeping a firm hold on the man’s hand as he frenetically tried to wriggle himself free, no doubt so he could better explore the consequences of tugging the cord free from its socket, Tony put on his firmest of faces and forcefully tugged his boss away from the enticing scenery.

            “No! No!” Gibbs whined, on the verge of tears. “Pitty!”

            Halting in his tracks to swiftly capture the Marine’s other hand, as that was the appendange currently being used to scratch his arm, Tony put on his sternest of faces and firmly squeezed the fingers in his grasp before speaking.

            “Yes, the things in this room _are_ pretty.” Tony agreed, waiting until Gibbs stopped squirming in his grasp to continue. “But they are _also_ very _expensive_. So, you _cannot_ touch anything, _at all_. Do you understand me?”

            Seeming to become exceedingly despondent upon receiving a lecture from the man who had been, up until that point, so obliging with his wants and needs, Gibbs blinked back a suspicious amount of moisture from his eyes and almost instantly stopped trying to tug himself free.

            “No.” Gibbs agreed, perfectly heartbroken as he looked back at the cord. “No pitty.”  

            Unable to stand the sight of such a despairing expression, especially not from his _boss_ , Tony groaned inwardly and frantically tried to cheer up Gibbs by reminding him of why they had come to the lab in the first place.

            “C’mon, lets go find Abby!”

            Thankfully for the both of them, as well for the sake of the lab, such a diversionary tactic worked _exactly_ as intended. For mere seconds after registering the fact that they would soon see one of his favorite people in the world, barring only his surrogate-son, Gibbs’s face brightened instantly and was eclipsed only by the wide smile that followed.

            “Abby!” Gibbs exclaimed, beginning to bounce on his heels.

            “Yeah!” Tony said brightly, leading them away. “Abby!”

             As was to be expected, they soon found Abby in the midst of the lab, headbanging along to her obscene music even as she worked her slender fingers away at her personal computer to shut the machine down. And, sensing that he would not hope at all of catching her attentions unless the blasting music was turned off, Tony did just that by directing a very excited Gibbs to pull the plug on her stereo. An act which, whilst relatively harmless, promptly set Abby off as predicted and compelled her to turn and growl at whatever culprit had dared disturb her music.

            “Abby!” Gibbs trilled, blissfully unaware that he had just been growled at. “Abby!”

            Understandably startled as Gibbs _rushed_ into her arms with all the enthusiasm of a small child, and prompt nuzzled his face against her shoulder, Abby gasped loudly and looked to Tony for answers with eyes as wide as saucers.

             “Tony, what is this?” The dark-haired scientist demanded, her voice slightly strained as she returned Gibbs’s embrace.

            “That,” Tony declared, watching in thinly-veiled amusement as Gibbs tugged at one of her ponytails, “Would be Strand D.”

             “Oh _fuck_.” Abby exclaimed, rather ineloquently.

            Having not expected _Abby_ of all people to swear out loud, especially in front of a toddler, Tony was woefully negligent when it came to censoring his charge from the onslaught of such a curse word. Because as much as he had realized what she was about to say when he heard the first sounds of the letter ‘f,’ she had spoken so quickly that there had been absolutely no time at all to cover his boss’s ears.    

            “Uh-oh!” Gibbs scolded, clamping his hands over his mouth.

            “Uh-oh?” Abby frowned, thoroughly confused.

            Giving her a theatrically withering look, of the variety Gibbs liked to give them whenever they were dangerously close to crossing a particularly line, Tony quirked a brow in her direction and graciously informed Abby of her grave error.

            “You _just_ swore in front of a toddler.”

            “Oh, shi – “

            “Abby!” Tony exclaimed, effectively cutting short her cuss.

             Looking more than just a little scandalized at the whole affair, and perhaps a little amused if the twinkle in his eyes was anything to go by, Gibbs pulled a little bit away from Abby and firmly tapped her mouth with his fingers.

            “No, no, no.” The former Marine scolded, smearing her purple lipstick. 

            “Oh, I’m _so_ sorry.” Abby gushed, planting a vibrant kiss on Gibbs’s forehead before refocusing her attentions back unto Tony. “He’s really little, isn’t he?”

             Thinking that even a blind person would be able to deduce such a fact for themselves, but otherwise understanding that his best friend was only looking for confirmation, Tony nodded somberly and grimaced in way of response – only to be almost _immediately_ contradicted by the sensitive subject of their conversation.

            “No!” Gibbs groused, more whiny than legitimately angry. “ _No itty!”_

            “Oh,” Abby crooned, cupping his face in her hands, “I’m _so_ sorry. You’re a _big_ boy, aren’t you?”

             Looking relieved to have so easily settled such a serious matter, Gibbs nodded eagerly and was promptly thrown off-guard when Abby kissed him for a second time on the forehead.

            “Silly me.” Abby sang, peppering his face in even more kisses. “What was I thinking?”

            “Illy.” Gibbs agreed, wriggling free of her hold and immediately fleeing to Tony for safety. “Illy.”

            Sensing an impending tantrum brewing within Gibbs, as having had his face trifled with in such an irreverent manner had clearly worked him up, Tony quickly stepped in and intervened before Abby could follow-up with another lipstick-related attack to his charge’s cheek.

            “Where’s your cot, Abby?” Tony patiently inquired. “He needs to be put down for a nap.”

             Looking more than just a little bit put out at having had her smooch-fest cut so preemptively short, as Abby was affectionate to a fault, the bubbly young woman stuck out her bottom lip in a slight pout before reluctantly leading them off into the midst of her lab to the cot she kept tucked away beneath a sun-providing pillow.

            “Here we are.” Abby crooned, stooping down a bit to fluff the pillows. “A little slice of Paradise.”

            Looking very confused at such an expression, at least whereas a bed was concerned, Gibbs frowned slightly and shook his head at Abby.

            “Bed.” He corrected, clearly trying to be helpful. “ _Bed_.”

            “Yes,” Tony humored, pulling back the three thin blankets residing atop the cot, “It’s a _bed_.”

            Scooching just a little bit closer to the object in question, Gibbs gingerly stuck out an investigate finger and poked the black canvas fabric – only to trill in delight when he discovered it to be of a very similar fabric to that they used to make trampolines.

            “Up! Up!” Gibbs squawked, batting his hand against the cot.

            “No, no, no.” Tony hastily intervened, stilling the offending hand. “This bed is for _sleeping_ , not for bouncing.”

             “Seep?” Gibbs inquired, gently seating himself atop the furnishing. “Seep?”

            Greatly relieved to find that Gibbs wasn’t proving himself inclined to pitch a fit now that naptime was so quickly impending, Tony seized upon the man’s sudden complacency and kneeled to help him remove his boots.

            “Yeah, it’s time for a little nap.” Tony agreed, tugging one boot off.

            Yawning loudly as he rubbed at one of his eyes with a fist, Gibbs nodded feebly and did not so much as flinch when his other boot was removed.

            “Bear?” The addled man asked instead.  

            Despite having never known the made when he was a toddler, Tony did have a somewhat small skillset when it came to deciphering what an ineloquent person might want. And, as such, if he was not mistaken, he believed his boss was looking for some childhood toy he had once held in great esteem.

            “Bear isn’t here.”  Tony apologized, pulling off his socks. “But, Abby _does_ have Bert!”

            Although he had been expecting some sort of backlash upon asserting that one stuffed toy was just as good as another, Tony was more than pleasantly surprised when Gibbs smiled sleepily and nodded his head.

            “Hibbo.” He correctly recalled.

            “A _farting_ hippo.” Abby correcting, removing the stuffed toy from his perch beneath the pillows. “Just listen to this guy.”

            And, thus declared, Abby gave Bert one hell of a bearhug and prompted the hippo to let lose a fart that would have put a grown man to shame. Which, of course, promptly set Gibbs into a giggling fit as the plush toy was pressed into his hands.

            “Fanks!” Gibbs exclaimed, hugging the plushie to his chest.

              “You are most certainly welcome.” Abby assured, expertly planting a kiss to his temple before he could defend himself. “You and Bert will have _such_ a nice nap.”

            “So, lay down now.” Tony encouraged, kindly holding up the blankets.

            Beyond pleased when Gibbs hastily complied and wriggled beneath the blankets, Tony let out a sigh of relief and silently thanked whatever deity in existence had been responsible for such a miracle.

            “Thank you.” Tony expressed, earning a small smile in return for his manners. “Should we get Daddy back on the phone?”

            Receiving a very eager nod in response to the question, Tony swiftly did as bid and placed the phone on the floor near Gibbs’s head.

            “ – On through the afternoon, hour after hour…till he found them at last, on the three millionth flower! “My friends!” Cried the elephant. “Tell me! Do tell! Are you safe? Are you sound? Are you whole? Are you well?”

            Settling himself on the floor near the cot as Jackson read on, Tony yawned loudly for himself and was not at all surprised to hear Abby doing the same.

            “Why don’t you go home, Abbs? I got this.”

            Looking quite torn between staying to support her best friend in such an awkward situation, and going home with McGee to test out their new coffin as the previous one had collapsed under spurious claims it hadn’t been ‘assembled’ properly, Abby nibbled at her lips and squirmed a bit uncomfortably.

            “Just go, Abbs. I got this.” Tony assured.

            Face flooding in relief upon receiving such an easy out, Abby beamed brightly and stooped to wrap his torso in a tight hug.

            “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She squealed, kissing his crown. “Call me the minute – “

            “I will.” Tony promised, putting a finger up to his lips in a wordless bid for silence.

            Blushing a bit guiltily as she realized her actions could have broken Gibbs out of his sleepy trance, Abby spoke in a nearly inaudible whisper as addressed Tony one last time.

            “You’re the greatest.”

              “I know.” Tony grinned. “But not let your boyfriend hear you saying that.”

            Receiving only an amused eyeroll in response to such a charming lack of modestly, Abby hid her poorly-concealed smile and scurried off, the promise of yet another coffin-breaking session of sex with her boyfriend motivating her to move even more quickly than usual.

             “Those two are going to end up with splinters in their ass.” Tony inadvertently blurted.

            Almost immediately realizing his error, as Jackson had stumbled a bit in his reading, Tony grimaced guiltily and promptly turned to Gibbs to investigate if any real damage had been done – only to be immediately gratified by the endearing visage of his employer lying atop the cot with his eyes closed tight and his fingers in his mouth.  

            “Is he out?” Jackson asked.

            “Yeah,” Tony yawned, “He’s out.”  


	5. Chapter 5

Despite having wanted to do nothing more than go home to a quiet house just as soon as the Plaskett situation had been resolved, Ducky found himself woefully unable to take lave of the Naval Yard until he was absolutely certain Jethro had been successfully remanded into his father’s custody. Because even _with_ as much faith as he held in Anthony, which was quite a staggering amount despite their staunch differences in personalities, it still stood to reason that the young man in question might be in need of some sort of assistance before the transferring or responsibilities reached in completion. Which was _precisely_ why Ducky was now heading down into the slightly chilly laboratory of the NCIS rather than returning to his cozy house for a steaming cup of well-deserved chamomile tea.            

            “Hello?” Ducky called out, stalking into the suspiciously silent room. “Where has everyone gone off to?”

            Receiving neither any sign of recognition nor outright response to his question, Ducky furrowed his greying brow in concern and stalked even further into the oppressively white laboratory, all the while hoping against hope that no serious harm or mischief had befallen his two missing colleagues. Because tight security of the building or no, it still stood to reason that a man-sized toddler could wreak all sorts of serious havoc under the questionable supervision of his very permissive warder.

            It was only when Ducky was starting to feel the beginning stages of panic, having already checked at least a good three-fourths of the room without any measurable success, that the first signs of life made themselves known in the form of two distinct, and inharmonious, snoring patterns. And, using such a jarring melody as an improvised navigational tool, it was not long at all before he finally found the missing duo tucked away in a tiny little alcove concealed by a rather large piece of machinery whose purpose he could only guess at.

            _“Well now,”_ Ducky thought, _“Isn’t that touching.”_

            For not only was Jethro currently sound asleep upon his belly with three fingers in his actively drooling mouth, and Bert pressed up against his cheek collecting most of the saliva, so too was Tony fully in the throes of a good sleep as he slumped gracelessly on the floor and used his employer’s leg as an improvised support for his head.

               _“Well,”_ Ducky thought, _“There’s no real sense in waking them.”_

            Because not only would Jackson be arriving before the passing of half-an-hour was complete, so too did Ducky not wish to contend with a toddler who had just been woken prematurely from much-needed nap for no discernably good reason. He would, instead, simply take a seat on the portion of floor nearest the window and idle away the time by checking the news of the world on his phone and, if he felt so inclined, perhaps a few games of Candy Crush as well. And so, with those sufficiently distracting thoughts in mind, Ducky gently creeped over toward where the slumbering men laid and silently knelt to retrieve his phone from its precarious perch beneath the bed. But, before he could so much as reach out a hand to collect the small rectangle, much less see it safely into his hands, Ducky was suddenly taken off-guard to discover a rather large and pungent puddle pooled around his phone.

              _“Bloody hell.”_ Ducky softly cursed, quickly fetching his uninsured phone from the puddle of urine. “ _Just lovely.”_

            Despite having taken great care to speak as quietly as possible, as a tantrum-induced awakening was the very last aggravation he wanted to add unto the irritation of having his new phone’s circuit fried by piss, Ducky was slightly taken aback to find that his mild utterances had served to awaken Tony from his exceedingly deep slumber.

            “Duck?” Tony murmured groggily. “What’re you doing?”

             Seeing as what he was doing was quite obvious, as the washing of one’s hands with wetwipes was not at all a difficult scene to interpret, Ducky refused to question the Senior Field Agent’s intelligence by answer the question and, instead, issued forth a directive of his own.

            “Wake up, Anthony.” Ducky encouraged, sensing that the man was making an attempt to fall back asleep. “I’m afraid we have a situation on hand.”

            As expected, the implicit seriousness of such a statement worked wonders in eliminating all sources of sleepiness from Tony’s person. Because not only did it cause the young man’s eyes to grow as wide as dinner plates, so too did it compel him to sit up ramrod straight.

            “What happened – “   

            Question cut prematurely short upon the realization there was something notably wet soaking the collar of his shirt, as well as coating a great portion of his neck, Tony grimaced in confusion and brought an investigative hand to the wetness in an attempt to decipher its composition.

            “It seems our charge couldn’t hold his water during sleep, I’m afraid.” Ducky informed, charitably halting the curious man from bringing his fingers up to his nose for an investigative sniff.

            “Jesus Christ!” Tony exclaimed in disgust, frantically swiping his besmirched fingers on his trousers. “I’m going to have to throw this shirt out.”

            Taking great compassion on the clearly disgusted individual, as no doubt it was a very great burden for him to have to throw out one of his obscenely expensive shirts, Ducky wordlessly passed over to the newly-besmirched Tony a large wad of wetwipes. An act of kindness which, while it caused him no great burden, seemed to appear to the Senior Field Agent as if he had just been offered the keys to an antique mustang.  

            “What…Do we wake him up?” Tony interrogated, roughly scrubbing away at his neck with the wipes. “Or do we wait for Jackson to get here?”

             Moving over to the cut to gently remove the saturated black blankets away from Jethro’s sleeping form, Ducky grimaced at the thoroughly soaked jeans that presented themselves and shook his head in response to Tony’s last question.

            “We cannot leave him in wet trousers, Anthony.” Ducky lectured. “That would be cruel.”

            “Yeah,” Tony frowned, “Grandpa would probably kill me for that.”

             “Not to mention the possibility of a rash presenting itself.” Ducky furthered, gently rubbing Jethro’s shoulder in an attempt to rouse him.

            Earning for his efforts at gentleness a soft mewl of complaint, along with an accompanying growl, Jethro squirmed as best he could away from the offending hand and pressed Burt against his face in a childish attempt to hide himself from any further onslaughts. It was only when his frenetic squirming lent itself to the discovery of his wet trousers, did Jethro finally spring awake and made known his subsequent discomfort and embarrassment with a loud wail.

             “Hey now.” Tony quickly intervened, as the wails dissolved into tears. “There’s no need to cry. It was an _accident_.” And, as the wails only began to increase in intensity, the good-humored agent shamelessly made a further comment. “C’mon now, you’re being _ridiculous_. Even _I_ peed the bed last week.”

              Tony, of course, neglected to mention that such an occurrence had only been the result of several ill-conceived shots of tequila and vodka – a somewhat impressive feat Ducky had only learned about from the lips of a shamefully hungover Kate the following day.

             “Ick!” Jethro giggled, only to immediately grimace as his boisterousness reminded him of his _own_ , more recent, loss of bladder. “Ick!”

            Perfectly saturated with a hearty dose of urine, alongside the cot and everything on it barring Burt, Jethro did, indeed, look the very definition of uncomfortable.

            “Yes, I’m quite sure you’re not at all comfortable at the moment.” Ducky humored, gently grabbing his hand and pulling him from the befouled bed. “Let us get you into the shower and cleaned up, hm? You’ll feel so much bet – “

             Realizing his inadvertent mistake _much_ too late as signs of sheer panic began to cloud over Jethro’s face in response to being informed a shower was in order, Ducky braced himself for one hell of a tantrum and was promptly rewarded for his omniscience when said toddler screamed bloody murder and seized hold of one of Tony’s legs.

            “No!” Jethro protested. “No! No! No!”

            “Jethro,” Ducky tried to reason, “All I’m asking is that you – “

            “I _scary_!” The distraught man sobbed, absolutely pitiful in his terror.

            Sensing that he had already lost the battle before it could even properly begin, as well as feeling no small amount of guilt for having inspired such fear in his temporary ward, Ducky quickly abandoned all hopes of getting Jethro properly cleansed with a steady flow of warm water and soap and instead began to work about setting the terms for a compromise.

            “Alright, alright, calm down now, Lad.” Ducky encouraged, keeping a respectful distance. “We shant put you in the shower if you don’t wish to go.”

             Still caterwauling as loudly as a hyena, it took several long moments before Jethro finally came upon the belated realization that he would not be forced into the much-dreaded showers.

             “Daddy.” Jethro tearfully requested, swiping the tears away from his reddened cheeks.

            “He’ll be here soon.” Tony promised, trying not grimace at the urine actively being pressed into the leg of his trousers. “Real soon.”

            “But, in the meantime, I do believe we need to get you into something less wet.” Ducky stated, legitimately concerned about the possibility of a rash.

            And while Ducky had been fully intending to carry out such an unpleasant task himself, as by allowing Tony to do so would be a serious breach of employee/employer protocol, the young man in question took his suggestive statement the wrong way and immediately began to protest against having any involvement.

            “Oh, no.” Tony refused, holding up his hands. “No way. Not gonna hap – “

            “Anthony, I was simply going to inquire into whether or not you would be so kind as to fetch Jethro’s extra clothes from his locker.”

            Although the Senior Field Agent looked more than just a little relieved to receive so simple a request, as no doubt he harbored no desires whatsoever to catch sight of his father’s manhood, Jethro appeared all the more frightened at the possibility of being left alone and clung all the tighter to Tony’s legs.

            “I need to leave you alone with Ducky for a moment.” Tony tried to reason, patting the addled man’s hair. “I’ll only be gone a moment, okay?”

            Looking as if he would much rather chop off an arm than surrender his proximity to Tony, Jethro blinked back a copious amount of moisture and buried his face into his agent’s thigh.

            “It will just be a moment, I promise.” Tony soothed, looking exceedingly guilty as he ruffled the Marine’s hair.

             “Kick?” Jethro inquired, wavering voice muffled by the fabric pressed into his face.

            “Yeah, I’ll be really quick.” Tony avowed. “Before you can even count to twenty.”

            Despite looking markedly confused at the concept of counting, much less at the vague notion of what twenty meant, Jethro frowned slightly but nonetheless surrendered his hold on Tony’s leg long enough for the younger man to take a few steps away from the saturated cot.

             “You be good for Ducky now, alright?” Tony directed, blowing a theatric kiss in Jethro’s direction before scurrying off.

             Waiting quite patiently as Jethro took great care to ‘capture’ the invisible kiss and bring it to his already lipstick-coated face, which was no doubt an amusing side-effect from a short interaction with Abby, Ducky did his best to hide his amused smile and idly pondered the ethics of capturing a few photos for future posterity.

            “Alright, now that we’ve been given a bit of privacy, why don’t we get those trouser off, hmm? I’m all but certain they don’t feel too good against your skin.”

            Understandably hesitant about removing his trousers in front of a man who had earlier reprimanded him, Jethro squirmed uncomfortably where he stood and looked longingly out into the open space Tony had just disappeared into.

            “Are you in need of any assistance?” Ducky softly inquired, wishing to make it very clear his request wasn’t at all an option.

            Becoming all the more agitated at the follow-up question, Jethro whined feebly from the back of his throat and brought a few of the fingers of his left hand up into his mouth. And whilst Ducky would have ordinarily protested against such an action, nefarious varieties of germs always being present on the hands of children, he graciously allowed the action to unimpeded on the grounds that said digits had just been thoroughly cleansed not too long ago.

            “Jethro,” Ducky hummed, kneeling so as to appear less intimidating, “Have you ever heard of any Scottish fairytales?”

             Instantly brought into distraction by the mentioning of stories, something a young Jethro had very clearly enjoyed a great deal, the former Marine stopped his squirming almost immediately and presented a question of his own.

            “Scopand?” He parroted, words garbled by the fingers in his mouth.

            “Yes, Scotland.” Ducky agreed, deciding to test his luck by placing his fingers on the belt securing Jethro’s trousers. “It’s an exceedingly beautiful place, I assure you.”

            Receiving neither verbal chastisement nor physical rebuke as he slowly began to undo the simple buckle, Ducky took the silence as implicit consent and slowly began to go about removing the leather belt from its loops.

            “Scopand pity?” Jethro questioned, eyes filled with curiosity.

             “Very much so.” Ducky confirmed, effortlessly unbuttoning the toddler’s trousers. “Now tell me, Jethro, would you like to hear one of my favorite stories from Scotland?”

             Nodding quite eagerly in response to such an inquiry, and nearly toppling over as a result, Jethro squawked loudly but quickly rectified the situation with minimal damage by placing his hands on Ducky’s shoulders for support.

            “Very well,” Ducky hummed, “I shall share with you the tale of ‘the Fiddler and the Bogle of Bogandoran.”

              Trying, and failing, for several moments to formulate such an amusing word with suddenly clumsy mouth, Jethro vocally resembled a dazed parrot until, at last, he came up with something that might have been English in intention.

            “Bobo?”

            “Yes.” Ducky agreed, trying hard to hide his amusement. “The Bogle of Bogandoran.”

             The name of the village now properly established, at least as well as either one of them could hope for, Ducky thusly launched into the remainder of the story involving a valorous young man who earned the respect of the village by frightening a ghost to death with his bravado. Or, in his slightly modified version, caused the troublesome ghost to flee the entire continent. A shot story which, whilst filled with endless Scottish words and phrases, seemed more than just a little adequate in keeping his young charge well enough distracted so that the wiping down of his legs, and other bits, with a few dozen wipes was made possible.  

            “There now,” Ducky praised, finished at last, “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

            Either very displeased with the prompt ending of such a short story, or otherwise legitimately grieved by the following complaint, Jethro huffed loudly and shook his head.

            “Code.” The disgruntled man accused, lips turned down in a pout.

             “While I do apologize for your discomfort,” Ducky began, “I’m afraid there was nothing that could be done to prevent such a result.”

             For not only could Ducky not wrap him up in one of the blankets he had just so recently urinated all over, neither could he determine where he might go about procuring a cleaner variety of such precious linen. A slight conundrum, whilst clearly very uncomfortable for an exposed Jethro, was altogether harmless when one excluded the resultant goosebumps on Jethro’s legs.

            “Never fear, lad.” Ducky soothed, sensing Jethro’s growing agitation. “You shant be left starkers for very long.”

            Although Ducky was all but certain Jethro had no real understanding of what such a English word meant, or at least not a correct interpretation, said man giggled aloud at such an unfamiliar word and tried, and failed, to replicate it with much the same results as he had experienced with Bogandoran.

            “Is he choking!?”

            Having been quite distracted by the amusing sight of a toddler trying to sound out such a difficult word, Ducky was properly thrown off-guard by Tony’s unannounced return into the laboratory.

            “Never fear, Anthony, the lad is just trying to sound a new word.” Ducky assured, gratefully accepting a pair of grey sweatpants from the agent.

            “Ony!” Jethro babbled, fidgeting where he stood. “Bobo.”

            Thoroughly confused by such an unfamiliar word, but otherwise just as unwilling to discourage his boss as he tried out new words, Tony smiled awkwardly and simply nodded in reply before rapidly casting his eyes to the floor in sheer embarrassment. For close relationship with the man aside, no child was ever really fully prepared to see their father’s manly bits on full display.

            “Jethro,” Ducky hummed, hoping to distract them both, “Why don’t we get some trousers unto you before you father arrives, hmm?”

            “Daddy!” Jethro gushed, his great love of Tony eclipsed only by that he bestowed upon his father.

            “Yes,” Ducky patiently agreed, “I don’t believe your father would be amused to see you standing starkers when he arrives.”

             Almost instantaneously launching into yet another attempt to pronounce the word, in an excited fashion that had _both_ Tony and Ducky concealing their giggles, Jethro babbled and gurgled even as his efforts revealed no clear results.

            “Jethro,” Ducky distracted, tapping his thigh, “Let us finish dressing, hmm?”

            “Code.” Jethro agreed, suddenly reminded of his discomfort. “Code.”

            “I would certainly think so.” Ducky humored. “So, let us finish dressing while Tony goes and fetches your father.”

             Blue eyes widening at the mention of his father, Jethro grinned widely and more than happily obliged when Ducky requested he lift a leg.

            “I’ll be back in a minute.” Tony avowed, already strolling away from the very uncomfortable scene of watching his father-figure receive assistance in getting dressed.

            More than just a little prepared at that point to contend with the disappointment and aggravation Jethro felt at such an unceremonious good-bye, Ducky quickly stepped in to soothe the wounded feelings before they could manifest themselves into a tantrum.

            “Tony has only gone off to fetch your Daddy, lad.” Ducky mitigated. “A place such as this has a special lock, you see, and Tony will need to help him get in.”

             Although it was almost certain Jethro didn’t understand the majority of what he had just been told, it soon became clear he at least understood the gist of it. For, mere moments later, Ducky was promptly greeted by a spontaneous utterance affirming such.

            “Ock.” Jethro parroted. “Daddy’s ock.”

            “Quite so.” Ducky agreed. “Now lift your other leg, please.”

             Hastily doing as compelled, without any sign of resentment of aggravation, Jethro obediently lifted his remaining leg and bonelessly allowed Ducky to guide his foot into the hole of his sweatpants.

            “What a good lad.” Ducky appraised, hiking the garment up to his waist. “Would you like to hear another Scottish story whilst we await your father?”

 


	6. Chapter 6

Wile Ducky had believed Jethro to be exceedingly scared of him since the moment he had rightfully scolded the tantruming toddler for nearly hitting him in the face, he soon found that the recently regressed man was exceedingly quick to forgive and forget. Because not only did the former Marine do his best to actually thank him for assisting in the removing of his ‘yucky’ pants, at least as well as any ineloquent toddler could have even hope of doing, so too was the young man now currently engrossed in playing with the ‘pretty’ contents of Ducky’s big and black doctors’ bag. The most fascinating selection of said items, for the moment, appearing to be his lavender stethoscope.

            “Ook!” Jethro compelled, clumsily waggling the medical equipment. “Ook!”

            Feeling it necessary to intervene in the improper handling of his stethoscope, but otherwise not wishing in inhibit the innocent play by any means, Ducky gently exacted the medical equipment out of his friend’s unresisting hands with the full intentions of showing him how to properly use such a tool.

            “Ah, yes.” Ducky hummed, smiling warmly. “I see you’ve found my stethoscope. Did you know a person can listen to someone’s heartbeat with just such a tool?”      

            Although Ducky was all but certain his more advanced vocabulary prohibited Jethro from receiving a full and proper understanding of his words, the regressed man in question deigned not to ask for any explanation as he tentatively brought the bell of the tool up to his mouth for an investigative taste. A childish bit of experimentation, whilst certainly endearing, was almost immediately put to an untimely end as Jethro recoiled in horror at the metallic taste and frantically threw the equipment down unto the floor.

            “No, no, lad.” Ducky gently chided, scooping up the fallen tool. “A stethoscope is for _listening_ not _chewing_. Allow me to demonstrate.”

             “Ick.” Jethro frowned, bonelessly allowing his toy to be taken.

             Once more pondering what the ramifications of collecting a few pieces of photographical and video evidence of his friend’s childish antics would be, and subsequently contemplating just how painful a disembowelment would be, Ducky weighed the options in his head for a brief spell before gradually returning to the present to find a very confused Jethro starting into his face.

            “What you must do,” Ducky said abruptly, blushing at his own lapse of attention, “Is put the earbuds into your ear and press the bell against your chest.”

            Thusly explained, and as simply as possible, Ducky then pressed one of the black buds into Jethro’s right ear as gently as he was able. And whilst his temporary ward did not immediately protest against such a treatment, his curiosity outweighing his fear for the moment, he most certainly _did_ object against such an experiment just as soon as the rhythmic pounding of Ducky’s chest made itself known in his ear.

            “Come now, lad. There’s no need for any tears.” Ducky soothed, rubbing the frightened man’s shoulder. “That was just the sound of my heart beating in your ears.”

            “No!” Jethro whined, flinging the colorful instrument to the floor. “No!”

             Entirely thrown off-guard by such an expectedly vehement reaction, as Ducky was all but certain his tender administrations hadn’t hurt him in any way, he took several deep breaths to calm himself and soon came upon the realization that there must needs be a perfectly reasonable explanation for so angry a response. For as grandfather to an exceedingly headstrong young girl, whom he interacted with quite often, he had learned throughout the previous three years that a tantrum was simply the result of some internal conflict a child was not adequately equipped to explain away with words.

            “Whatever is the matter, lad?” Ducky inquired, prudently tucking away the offending stethoscope back into its bag.

            Responding first with a feeble whine that manifested somewhere in the back of his throat, and then following _that_ with the expelling of tears, Jethro fidgeted uncomfortably from where they sat on the floor and anxiously began tugging at his shirt. And while Ducky knew such a garment to be relatively inexpensive, when compared to those belonging to Tony, he snaked out and gently removed the offending fingers from the shirt in concern that his agitated friend might scratch himself with his fingernails.

            “Mama.” Jethro fussed, growing all the more frustrated with his own lack helpful vocabulary. “Mama ick.”

            Grimacing inwardly as he finally realized the nefarious cause behind such anxiety, Ducky squeezed the fingers on Jethro’s right hand in sympathy and stewed in the guilt of knowing he had played a part, albeit small, in his temporary ward being reminded of his mother’s first bout with cancer. Because whilst Jethro might not have been able to express such a complicated conceptualization vocally, the way in which he had recoiled as the stethoscopes tubing brushed against his arm spoke volumes on the matter. For not only did had Jethro shared with him the sordid details of his mother’s death long ago, after several glasses of ill-advised bourbon, so too had the same gentleman in question given confession to the horror he had felt upon seeing all those tubes sticking out of his mother for the first time.

            “Jethro,” Ducky commiserated, giving his fingers another squeeze, “Why don’t we see if we can find any of the coloring books Abby leaves lying around.”

              “Olor?”

            “Yes.” Ducky agreed, swiping away the tears on his friend’s face with a tissue. “I do believe the young lady enjoys coloring a few pages when awaiting test results. She ought not to mind allowing us the same privilege while we wait for your father.”

            Blinking in confusion at such a lengthy explanation, as no doubt the great majority of the words had gone over his head, Jethro fidgeted a bit uncomfortably before finally garnering up the courage to tug on Ducky’s sleeve.

            “Olor?” The former Marine pressed, clearly wondering if he had misunderstood Ducky’s earlier suggestion.

            “Indeed.” Ducky confirmed, climbing to his feet. “Let us try and locate one of them.”

            Bonelessly allowing himself to be assisted back unto his feet, Jethro clung affectionately to Ducky’s hand and wordlessly followed him throughout the expanse of the chilly laboratory in search of the coloring books that seemed to never stay in one place for very long.

            “Ook.” Jethro compelled, jabbing a slobbery finger at a row of microscopes.

            “Yes, the microscopes _are_ quite pretty.” Ducky agreed. “But they _aren’t_ for playing.”

            “No.” Jethro argued, firmly planting his feet in place. “ _Ook.”_

            Despite being fully prepared to reprimand the young man for such outright defiance, as Ducky was no pushover when it came to discipline, he was promptly prevented from fulfilling such a tedious chore by the realization that his ward had simply been trying to point out the stack of coloring books Abby had inexplicably placed beneath one of her telescopes.

             “Well done, Jethro.” Ducky flattered. “Stay put a moment and I shall collect the books.”

            Because whist he would have ordinally requested Victoria’s help in such venture, as he wished to foster a certain amount of independence in the young girl, it stood to reason that he felt no such obligation toward the Jethro, as he was only playing babysitter to the man and not at all acting as an authority figure. And, that already convincing argument aside, Ducky felt the strongest of obligations toward Abby not to put her precious lab equipment in any sort of the danger a toddler could provide.

            “Here we are.” Ducky hummed, carefully fetching the books from beneath their improvised paperweight. “A good few books to pass the time.”

            And with that, the two of them were off once again, the both of them walking in companionable silence as Ducky steered them toward a section of flooring much nearer the exit than their previous perch. For as much as he trusted Anthony to be able to accurately direct Jackson to the tiny little alcove they had just left behind, it stood to reason that there was no good reason to cause the older gentleman any of the additional anxiety an extra two hundred steps would entail.

            “Here we are.” Ducky decided, lying the coloring books and crayons the floor. “This looks as good a place as any, does it not?”

            Not even bothering to dignify such a rhetorical question with an answer, Jethro simply plopped himself unto the chilly floor and searched through the small selection of available books until he came across a Disney Princess book he found particularly promising.

            “Duck.” Jethro invited, patting a spot beside him. “Duck.”

            Believing it would be the very height of rudeness to refuse such a polite request, as even the youngest of people were entitled to a certain amount of respect, Ducky accepted the invitation without any hesitance and promptly seated himself beside his friend on the floor.

            “Duck. Geen.” Jethro warbled, passing him a blue crayon.

            “Why, thank you.” Ducky expressed, selecting a space-themed book for himself. “How generous.”

            Far too engrossed in coloring Ariel’s scaled tale a vibrant shade of magenta to respond to such an accolade, Jethro began to hum contentedly as he clumsily scribbled upon his selected page and drooled on the occasional finger stuck into his mouth. In fact, so content was the young Marine with his artistic endeavors, that a full ten minutes passed by without any significant trauma on Jethro’s part occurring until it came time to color in the mermaid’s hair.

            “Oh, _Jethro_.” Ducky crooned, already sensing the issue as his ward’s eyes filled with tears.

            For as slow as Ducky had been to deduce the trauma Jethro had evidently learned to associate with stethoscopes as a small toddler dealing with his mother’s first bout of cancer, he was expediently quick to realize that the man in his custody had been reminded of his mother’s hair loss by the red crayon he had selected for the locks atop Ariel’s head.

            “Mama ick, Ducky.” Jethro explained sadly, dropping his writing utensil.

            “Oh, goodness.” Ducky frowned, pulling the unresisting man into a hug. “You’ve had such a long day, haven’t you?”  

            Dissolving into a fresh flood of tears as an entire typhoon of emotions broiled within in him, Jethro clung tightly unto his person and sobbed openly into the small crook the axis between his neck and shoulder provided. And while Ducky was more than happy to provide whatever comfort he could to the distraught man, namely the rubbing of his shoulder and the utterances of a litany of soothing words, his efforts all seemed to be for naught as Jethro became more and more worked up until his breathing became so hitched and uneven in manner that Ducky began to fear a mild sedative might soon be in order.

Thankfully for the _both_ of them, such a medical intervention was soon rendered perfectly unnecessary. For a full ten minutes into the fit, an onerous and lengthy expenditure of time that had allowed for the upper portion of his shirt to become thoroughly soaked, Jackson came barreling into the laboratory with Tony hot on his heels.

“What’s this now?” Jackson demanded, more concerned than accusatory.

Before Ducky could so much as offer forth an explanation for such an untimely meltdown, much less properly greet the newly arrived gentleman, the onus on him to do so was almost immediately removed from his person as Jethro leaped up from the floor and dramatically threw himself into his father’s outstretched arms.

“Oh, Leroy.” Jackson commiserated, patting his son’s back. “You’ve had one hell of a day, haven’t you?”

Nuzzling even further into his father’s embrace in what was very clearly a childish display of desperation, Jethro gulped frantically to coax a bit of air into his lungs and pitifully concealed his face in the collar of Jackson’s shirt.

“Good Lord!” Jackson exclaimed, clearly alarmed. “What the hell happened?!”

“I’m afraid the topic of your wife’s illness somehow managed to make its way into our conversation as we were coloring.” Ducky explained. “It seems Ariel’s red hair reminded him of his mother.”

            Greatly resembling a man who had just been unexpectedly sucker-punched at the deliverance of such unwelcomed news, Jackson staggered a bit where he stood and protectively tightened the grip he held around his son.  

             “Leroy,” Jackson crooned, patting the sobbing man’s back, “Mama got medicine to make her better, don’t you remember?”

             Far too worked to even understand a fraction of what had just been explained to him, Jethro whined pitifully from the back of his throat and made to articulate his grief as best he knew how with so limited a vocabulary.

            “Mama air!” The Marine cried, whole body heaving. “Mama air!”

            “Leroy,” Jackson sang, deep voice suspiciously thick, “Mama’s hair grew back, remember? Just as long and just as pretty as before.”

            Beginning to wonder if Jethro’s memories of his mother’s repeated bouts with cancer were somehow getting mixed together in an indecipherable mess of grief and anguish, a troubling experience a toddler could never hope to make sense of, Ducky furrowed his brow and wondered, for the second time that evening, if a sedative was in order.

            “You silly boy.” Jackson heatlessly chided, blissfully ignorant of Ducky’s troubling musings. “Don’t you remember? Mama had Grandma drive her to that special place in the city, the one that helped her get better. You know, the one with the hot tubs, and the beaches, and the mud baths…You remember, don’t you?”

            Although Jethro looked quite exhausted from his most recent of fits, and a bit unsure of himself, he sniffled disgustingly loud and managed to whimper out an answer.

            “Im.”

            “Yeah,” Jackson encouraged, kissing his temple, “You and Mama went swimming, didn’t you?”

             Smiling tearfully in a silent confirmation that he did, in fact, remember such an occurrence, Jethro swiped the tears and snot away from his face with a sleeve and sniffled loudly once more before pressing forth a seemingly innocent inquiry of his own.

            “Go Mama?”

            Letting out a garishly loud breath as the unintended blow threw him off kilter, Jackson took several long moments to compose himself before answering.

            “That…That clinic is far away, Leroy.” The older man evaded. “We probably couldn’t go today.”  

             “Uno Elay?”

            Not so much as missing a beat, although Ducky had been all but certain such an utterance would be undecipherable, Jackson shook his head in the negatory and let his son down as gently as possible.

            “Your Uncle LJ can’t take you either, Grizzly-Bear.” Jackson apologized. “He had to go visit his brother.”

            Huffing loudly in defeat at such a declaration, Jethro sniffled profusely for several long moments in a clear attempt to get his breathing under control. A relaxation method, whilst clumsy, certainly seemed to work in his favor as, moments later, a shrewd expression suddenly crossed over his reddened features.

            “Daddy.” The addled man frowned. “Mama go up.”

             And, seeing as the statement had not been a question by any stretch of the imagination, Jackson sighed softly and nodded just once.

            “Yeah, Grizzly-Bear. She did.”

            Having fully braced himself for a repeat of the meltdown that had just occurred moments ago, and hastily calculated the amount of sedative he would need for man Jethro’s size, Ducky was promptly thrown into a shocked stupor when Jethro only frowned deeply and clung closer to his father.

            “Are his memories _supposed_ to be this garbled up?” Jackson interrogated, wrinkled face screwed up with concern. “What if asks about – What if…“

             Not even needing to be clued into who Jackson was speaking of, as said had quite clearly been referring to Shannon and Kelly, Ducky charitably offered up his solution before Jackson could work _himself_ up into a fit.

             “I’ll send you home with a few mild sedatives.”

            Although no father ever _wanted_ to accept the possibility of their child needed sedatives just to function throughout a typical day, Jackson wearily sighed and shook his head in agreement to the prescription.

            “I suppose I had better take a few home with me.” Jackson allowed. “Who know _what_ his mind will come up with in the next few – “

            The voicing of his mild concerns cut short by the very familiar sounds of the Director’s voice booming at them from the doorway, Jackson nearly jumped out of his skin at the same his son yelped and hid his face in his father’s shirt.

            “Gibbs!” The darker man barked, uncharacteristically impatient. “What’s this I hear from the custodians about a hullabaloo in the lab!? And where the _hell_ are my reports! Do you know how many people I have breathing down my goddamn neck after this Plaskett ordeal?!”

            “Director Vance,” Tony began, quickly stepping in to play mediator, “Gibbs – “

            “Gibbs can speak for his _goddamn_ self, can’t he!?” Vance demanded, vehemence fueled on by a severe lack of sleep. “Or does he have you doing that for him now, too?!”

            While Ducky had always known Jackson to be a relatively soft-spoken individual, a stark contract the child he had sired, he was not at all surprised when said man’s fatherly instincts kicked in and compelled his to bring Vance down to size.

            “WOULD YOU QUIT YOUR HOLLERING!?” Jackson snapped. “CAN’T YOU SEE WE’VE GOT A UNIQUE SITUATION HERE!?”

            Sufficiently startled from his tirade at the experience of being chewed out by a complete stranger, as such a thing was not all a familiar phenomenon for him, Vance promptly stopped in his tracks and properly took in the scene greeting him for the first time since arriving.

            “What…What is all this now?” The African-American demanded, staring in bemusement upon the visage of Jethro clinging to his father.

            “Strand D.” Tony volunteered, tone markedly full of resentment.

            “Well, _fuck_.” Vance cursed, clearly envisioning all the additional paperwork such an affliction would entail. “ _Fuck, fuck, FUCK!”_

Although Jackson had quickly slapped his hands over Jethro’s ears in omniscient prediction of the foul curse words that had spilled out of Vance’s mouth, a reaction that seemed to amuse Jethro more than annoy him, Ducky still took it upon himself to scold the offending man for displaying such a jarring lack of manners in front of an impressionable toddler.

            “I do believe we ought not to curse like a sailor in front of the baby.” Ducky lectured, rather severely. “It’s beneath the dignity of all involved.”

            “Baby?” Vance frowned. “What – Just how young _is_ he right now?”

            Clearly offending at being referenced to as a baby, an egregious slight to any young individual who believed themselves to be one of the big kids, Jethro huffed loudly and stomped his foot.

            “No itty!” The former Marine defended. “I big!”

             “Alright, Alright.” Vance patronized, putting up his hands. “Don’t bite my head off.”

            Glaring at Vance as vehemently as he had once been wont to do as a fully-functioning adult, Jethro stuck out his tongue at the sharply-dressed man and earned for himself a firm swat on the rear from his father. An unexpected response that nearly had the addled man in tears before Vance stepped in as a gesture of goodwill and to make amends.

            “C’mon now, no more tears.” The repentant man implored, mercilessly poking Jethro in the ribs. “You already look at red as a tomato.”  

            “Not!” Jethro argued, trying to squirm away from the sudden onslaught of pokes being delivered to his ribs. “No tomomo!”

            Rising playfully to the challenge, Vance crept ever closer to his squirming victim and assailed him beneath the chin, a sensitive place on the body that proved to be Jethro’s Achilles heel where as tickling was concerned.

            “Are you sure?” Vance antagonized, jabbing his ribs a few more times. “Because you look like a tomato to me.”

            “No tomomo.” Jethro giggled, no long angry. “You bagbeery!”

            Face coloring brightly in recognition of what his child had just said, or attempting to say, Jackson grimaced uncomfortably and looked ready to land another swat to his kids ears before Vance and reacted and assured all involved that he hadn’t taken any insult to having his skin color compared to blackberries.

            “Is that so, huh?” Vance taunted, assaulting Jethro’s armpits. “Is it? Is it?”

            Perhaps concerned that Jethro would soon be pissing his pants if the tickling was allowed to go unobstructed any longer, or otherwise just eager to be in the comfort of his own home once more, Jackson allowed the play to continue for only a moment longer before intervening and bringing the festivities to a halt.

            “Alright now,” Jackson interrupted, pulling his kid away to safety, “Let’s not get the boy too worked up, now.” And, turning to Jethro, he added: “Say goodbye, Leroy.”

            Already quite despondent from having had his play cut so short, Jethro’s disappoint was made all the greater by the news that he would now have take leave of those around him.

            “Bye?” The toddler asked sadly. “Go bye?

            “Yeah, Jethro. We’ve got to go bye.” Jackson agreed. “You wouldn’t want Ms. Cleves to break down the store for her nightly candy bar, would you?”

            Looking quite somber at the very suggestion anyone would break down his Daddy’s store, Jethro shook his head profusely before looking hopefully at Tony.

            “Bye, too?”  
            “No, Grizzly-Bear. Tony can’t come with.” Jackson apologized. “He has lots of work to get done here.”

            Considering the fact that Tony would not have play the part of leading agent, on top of all the paperwork duties he had acquired in the attempt to subdue Plaskett, Ducky thought with a wry smile that Jackson, if anything, was _under_ exaggerating the impending workload Tony would soon be facing.

             “I’ll call you.” Tony quickly promised, sensing tears. “I’ll try really hard to visit, too.”

             “Pom?” Jethro asked, blue eyes suspiciously watery.

            Stalking forward to cup Jethro’s face in his hands, Tony looked the saddened man straight in the eyes and assured him of the veracity of his promise.

            “I promise.” The Senior Field Agent avowed. “I promise. I promise.”

             


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keep the reviews coming, people, they fuel me on!

            Although Jackson would have preferred being able to contain his suddenly fussy child in the back of whatever vehicle he was currently driving, as a carseat was almost certainly out of the question given the absurd circumstances that abounded around them, he was outright forced (by sheer necessity) into allowing the exceedingly-curious young man to ride beside him given that his truck had no real back seats to speak of. And while he had been more than stressed enough at such an unavoidable outcome, as Leroy had been quite notorious around Stillwater for causing all sorts of mischief in any car he wasn’t strapped down in, his anxiety was made all the greater by the unwelcome realization that a man-sized toddler could do a hell of a lot more damage than one far too small to reach the dashboard.         

            “Leroy Jethro,” Jackson heatlessly sighed, when after an hour his fidgety boy touched the buttons on his dash for the thirteenth time, “I really need to sit still and stop touching things.”

            Because as relatively harmless as the jabbing of the defroster and hazard lights was, Leroy had been eyeing the emergency break with a suspicious curiosity almost as soon as they had taken their leave of the parking garage.

            “Oke.” Leroy argued, reaching for the cigarette lighter.

            Hastily snatching the slobbery fingers away from the old-fashioned car accessory, as a couple of burned fingers was the very last thing he wanted to add atop of his already stressful day, Jackson sighed loudly and counted to ten before scolding his inadvertently wayward son.

            “Leroy, I _know_ you like to poke at things, but you can’t in the truck, alright?” Jackson patiently lectured. “It’s _dangerous_ , just like touching the stove or the taps or…We’re going through the touching phase again, aren’t we?”

            Thinking back upon the remembrances of such a phase with sheer horror, as that had been one of the most trying stages in Leroy’s development for them, Jackson pursed his lips and began to think of all the babyproofing gadgets he would have to drag out of the basement and apply to the majority of his doors and household appliances. Because if Leroy had not spent the majority of his toddlerhood trying to escape the house for an impromptu midnight visit with all the neighborhood dogs, or trying to roast himself in the oven alongside the Sunday roast, he had spent the remainder of the time abusing his fingers by trying to jab them into whatever sockets or blenders he could find or elsewise doing his best to slam them in the cabinets and drawers of the kitchen.

            “No.” Leroy reluctantly agreed, moving his fingers to play with the window crank.

            And while Jackson would have ordinarily let such a harmless abuse of the window crank go unrebuked, as Leroy would no more than lower the window by an inch or two before rolling it back up again, the aggravating nature of the evening traffic he was currently stuck navigating leant itself to a certain uncharacteristic impatience within himself.

            “ _Leroy Jethro Gibbs.”_ Jackson snapped, honking at a young woman who had nearly collided with them whilst glancing down at her phone. “Didn’t I just tell you to stop fiddling with everything?!”

             Looking sweetly up into his face with all the innocence a young boy could manage, which was not much at all, Leroy smiled in the mischievous fashion he had inherited from his mother and cheekily jabbed his index finger into the defroster button.

            “Acon.” Leroy warbled, jabbing at it again with reckless audacity.

            “That’s isn’t bacon, it’s the defroster.” Jackson corrected, slapping his boy’s fingers away from the sticky button. “And didn’t I just tell you to stop touching everything?!”

            Blue eyes growing wide in alarm at such a physical censure, as the only real time Leroy had ever been walloped with any severity was when Anne had caught him tinkering around with a razor-sharp butcher’s knife at five, the addled man in question opened wide his mouth and let loose a wail despondent enough to drive a demon to pity.

            “Oh, Leroy.” Jackson sighed, feeling the start of a headache coming on. “I’m sorry, Daddy shouldn’t have smacked your fingers like that.”

            Because dependent child or not, everybody was entitled to hear the apology they deserved. Maybe even more so the little ones, who were far too often overlooked when it came to doling out that kind of respect and compassion.

            “Owww!” Leroy wailed, clutching at his fingers as if they’d been broken. “Daddy hit!”   

            Already thoroughly worn out from the earlier stress of learning his child had been poisoned by a terrorist, a great exhaustion that had only been amplified after a long hour spent cooped up in a truck with a suddenly fussy child, Jackson counted to twenty inside his head and forcefully reminded himself that his son had all the makings of a toddler so that didn’t so shamefully lose his temper again.

            “Grizzly-Bear,” Jackson hummed, skillfully merging into another lane, “Why don’t you close your eyes for a bit, hmm?”

            “NO!” Came the almost immediate growl, smacked fingers all but forgotten as his anguish turned to anger. “NO! NO! NO!”

            Raising an eyebrow in warning as his only child continued to fill the truck with his repeated remonstrations, an expression which seemed to be more than effective in bringing such unacceptable behavior to a jolting halt, Jackson shook his head but once in a silent warning before turning his focus back unto the insufferable traffic boxing him.

            “Ook?” Leroy said tearfully, jabbing at the glovebox.

            Seeing as Jackson had not had the parental foresight to bring from Stillwater something to distract his boy with, as he had been far too panicked at the time to even _think_ of such a basic parenting rule, he bonelessly gave into the innocent request and nodded his head.

            “Go ahead, Leroy.” He encouraged. “Just watch your fingers.”

            Nodding to show that he had listened to the warning, or at least heard it, Leroy smiled through the tears remaining in his eyes and cautiously brought the glovebox door to an open with his clumsy fingers. And, that arduous task thus complete, the young man in question promptly began to go about the very stimulating process of sorting through the old fast-food napkins and crumpled manuals that currently resided within such a dark square of space. And while Jackson was all but sure such an activity would yield nothing but disappointing results for the toddler, as the only thing of interest hiding within the glovebox would be the old map of Stillwater he had jammed in their years ago, he was soon proven wrong on such a regard when, moments later, Leroy pulled from the dusty confines a bag of what had to be the stalest popcorn on earth. Which, whilst certainly amusing, would have been just fine had Leroy not almost immediately stuck a small handful of the ancient snack into his mouth and gagged on it.

             “Daddy, ick!” Leroy complained, glancing in distaste at the popcorn now strew all over the floorboards. “Ick!”

            “Well, I should think so.” Jackson chuckled. “That popcorn is probably as old as this truck is.”

            Almost immediately welling up with tears at the disappointment of not being able to enjoy one of his favorite treats, Leroy whined feebly and pinched his fingers together before bringing them up to his lips in a nonverbal demand for food.

            “Oh, Leroy.” Jackson frowned, immensely grateful that Anne had taken it upon herself to teach their baby to sign. “Didn’t they think to feed you?”

            Receiving only another feeble whine in response, as well as a very loud grumbling of the stomach, Jackson felt his face with righteous indignation at such unwelcome news. Because even _with_ the stress of a freshly-finished case brought into consideration, there was no excuse whatsoever for adults to let a child go hungry.

            “Let’s get you something to eat, Grizzly-Bear.” Jackson decided, already steering his truck towards a nearby McDonalds. “You still like chicken nuggets?”

            Receiving only another nonverbal request for food from his suddenly reticent son, Jackson shrugged his shoulders and simply ordered for his child the type of selection he had always enjoyed when small. Which, of course, consisted of the highly sophisticated chicken nuggets and onion rings.

            “Eat up, Grizzly-Bear.” Jackson coaxed, helping his boy open the box of cheap chicken before leaving the drive-thru. “They’re nice and hot.”

            Quite cleverly making the correct signage for hot, as that had been the very second sign he had learned after ‘food,’ given his proclivity for wanting to touch everything around him, Leroy blew a copious amount of slobber all over his nuggets before finally daring to stick the entirety of one into his cautious mouth. A feat which, whilst admittedly impolite, was perfectly harmless until the confused boy in question inexplicably decided to swallow without chewing. Which, of course, meant that he almost immediately started choking right as Jackson pulled back unto the highway and had nowhere to pull over.

             “Shit!” Jackson cursed, frantically looking for a place to park. “Shit!”

            And while it was not necessarily legal or safe for him to do so, by any stretch of the imagination, Jackson spurred his truck on as fast as it could go so he could slam to a halt unto the slender and grassy median dividing the highways without getting rammed from behind by the other motorists as he cut across traffic.  

             “Cough it up, Leroy!” Jackson implored, thumping on his son’s back. “C’mon cough it up – “

            Interrupted from his desperate coaxing by the remarkable and relieving sight of a nugget being expelled from Leroy’s throat at an unfathomably swift speed, as well as by the glorious sounds of his child’s resultant wails, Jackson nearly wept with relief even as the cars around them began to honk their outrage at being so unceremoniously cut off.

            “You’re alright, you’re alright.” Jackson crooned, rubbing at Leroy’s back. “Calm down now, shh. It’s all over now.”

            Needing another fifteen minutes before the terrified toddler could even stop wailing like a banshee, and an additional ten minutes before said boy was even calm enough to release his father from the death-grip he had placed him in, Jackson sighed in additional relief as he was finally able to pilot his truck back unto the highway.

            “Lord, your really _are_ little, aren’t you?” Jackson crooned, glancing down at the son who was using his shoulder as a pillow. “Can’t even chew up your food, can you?”

            Whimpering in response to the mild questioning, Leroy sniffled loudly and used his still shaking hands to signal for milk.

            “Why don’t you try a sip of Daddy’s Dr. Pepper?” Jackson suggested, noticing a distinct lack of milk in the truck. “C’mon now, use the straw.”

.           It was only as Leroy tried to make proper use of the straw, and struggled greatly whilst doing so, that Jackson was struck with the sudden and panic-inducing remembrance that his child had received his nourishment predominately from Anne’s breast up until he was well past the age of two.  


	8. Chapter 8

            Given that it was very nearly nine at night before Jackson could even pull into Stillwater, much less park his truck in the dimly-lit garage, Leroy was dead asleep against his shoulder and drooling profusely unto the collar of his shirt well before the engine of his truck had even been brought to a stop. And while Jackson had been immensely grateful for the temporary silence such an impromptu nap had provided, as Leroy had taken to screeching aloud the complaints his hunger provoked just an hour outside of home, he was likewise just as inconvenienced by such as he was touched. Because as healthy and strong though he was for his advanced age, there was simply no way in hell he would ever be able to carry Leroy into the house – much less do so without waking him.

            “Leroy,” Jackson hummed, gently rubbing the boy’s shoulder, “Wake up, Grizzly-Bear.”

            Letting loose from the back of his throat an aggrieved whine at such an unwelcomed treatment, Leroy scowled deeply and tried to bury his face in the crook of Jackson’s neck.

            “C’mon now.” Jackson coaxed, smoothing the toddler’s hair. “Let’s get you inside so we can put some food in that belly of yours.”

            Slightly perking up at the promise of food, as the workaholic very likely hadn’t even had _breakfast_ , Leroy smiled groggily and poked at his belly before signing a sleepy request for milk.

            “You can have some milk, Leroy, but we need to get some _food_ in there.” Jackson reasoned, inwardly praying that his boy no longer had any energy for a fit. “Maybe Daddy can whip you some mashed potatoes, huh?”

            Tired face instantaneously brightening with the promise of one of his favorite foods, as the picky boy in question had all but lived off those spuds for the few months he was being introduced to solids, Leroy finally pulled away from father’s shoulder and rubbed the sleep from his eyes with two very slobbery fists. And while such a sight was admittedly disgusting given the sheer volume of saliva coating the young man’s fingers, alongside what was certainly no small amount of dirt and gunk, Jackson charitably let such a display go unchastised on the grounds that a little bit of filth had never killed a small child before.

            “Wait for Daddy to help you out of the truck.” Jackson compelled. “We wouldn’t want you to go tumbling out, would we?”

            “Ow.” Leroy said solemnly, moving five very damp fingers to his chin.

             As equally surprised as he was amused to discover that Leroy still seemed to remember the morning he had toppled chin-fist out of his mother’s yellow Volkswagen after ignoring her stern request he remain seated in the back, Jackson slipped effortlessly out of the drivers-side door and silently contemplated what _else_ his afflicted son might recall whilst in such a state. For while it was certainly endearing to discover that his boy could still recall several of the memories he had shared with his mother during the times Anne was well, it stood to reason that the results of such remembrances wouldn’t _always_ be happiness and fondness – Especially _not_ if said man happened to stumbled across the recollections of Kelly and Shannon.

            “Yeah, that would hurt.” Jackson mumbled, not at all certain he was responding to Leroy’s earlier statement. “So, careful now.”

            Obediently complying with the request for carefulness, at least as well as a parent could ever hope to expect from their toddler, Leroy clumsily crawled across the bench-styled seat and sloppily fell into Jackson’s outstretched arms. A childish display of trust which, while absolutely adorable, would have very nearly torn Jackson’s arms right from their sockets had he not already been bracing himself for it.

            “Alright, Sleepy-Butt.” Jackson declared, gently disentangling himself from the exuberant embrace he was currently locked in. “Into the kitchen.”

            Giggling quietly in response to such a silly moniker, Leroy quickly snatched up his father’s hand in his own and confidently began to tug him through the dimly-lit garage right up to the concrete steps that would lead them up to the green door granting access to the kitchen.

            “Up?” Leroy inquired, looking hopefully into his father’s face for permission to ascend.

            Somewhat delighted to find that Leroy still seemed to remember a few of the rules he and Anne had put into place to keep him safe, one of which was that the energetic toddler in question wasn’t allowed to ascend or descend steps without someone to assist, on the grounds that the little imp harbored an infuriating inclination to hop and leap over steps, Jackson nodded his head in agreement to the innocent request but likewise gave the fingers in his hand a tight squeeze to warn the man that no such shenanigans would be tolerated. A silent warning which, whilst very mild in nature, seemed to do its job quite admirably, as not only did Leroy move slowly up the uneven blocks of concrete, so too did he keep a firm grip unto his father’s hand until they entered the kitchen.

            “Alright, plant your butt in a chair.” Jackson requested, gesturing at the table. “Daddy doesn’t want you near the stove.”

            Despite looking as if he would very much like to protest against such a command, as his mother had almost _always_ allowed him to ‘assist’ in the kitchen by sitting on the counter and supervising, Leroy sullenly did as bid and planted himself on the chair nearest the stove.

            “If you’re going to pout, you can pout in the corner.” Jackson advised, pulling from the pantry a large bag of potatoes.

            Immediately tucking his bottom lip back where it belonged, as there was no punishment he hated so much as corner time, Leroy meekly plucked up one of the lace doilies his mother had crafted decades ago and began to go about entertaining himself by holding the delicate thing up to his eyes and peering at the kitchen through the holes and crevasses. And while the craft was, indeed, a poor substitute for any genuine toy bought from a store, Leroy soon proved the age-old adage that a toddler could make a toy out of anything by genuinely beginning to enjoy the play just as much as he might have liked using the kaleidoscope his Uncle L.J had bought for him on his second birthday.  

            “Ook, Daddy!” Leroy encouraged, holding two of the fabric circles over his eyes. “Boo!”             Glancing away from the boiling of the potatoes long enough to pretend to be startled when his son pulled the doilies away from his eyes, Jackson clutched at his heart and jumped a little before turning back to his self-appointed task of cooking.

            “You got me.” Jackson agreed, jabbing a knife into one of the small potatoes to check its readiness. “Aren’t you just the smartest thing?”

            Beaming brightly at the compliment, Leroy nodded with all the confidence of a child who hadn’t been made to question his worth and promptly stuck his fingers into his mouth as he turned in his chair to watch his father cook.

            “Oke.” Leroy observed, glancing wide-eyed at the knife. “Ow.”

            Harboring no doubts whatsoever so that his boy was currently remembering the time Anne had thoroughly walloped his backside for fiddling about with a knife, Jackson watched in mild amused as Leroy placed his hands protectively over his backside.

            “We don’t play with knives, do we?” Jackson demanded, spilling the water from the pan into the sink.

            “No, no, no.” Leroy somberly agreed, wide eyes never leaving the counter the knife had been laid on. “Ow.”

            Sensing a note of dangerous curiosity within the boy’s bright blue eyes, one that seemed to promise impending mischief, Jackson pursed his lips and hastily tucked the sharp knife away into its proper block before placing the full wooden square up unto the refrigerator.

            “Leroy,” Jackson summoned, “Come and help Daddy mash these up.”

            All but flying over to his side with all the frenetic energy such an offer provided, as such a privilege was rare indeed, Leroy was at his side in seconds and tugging eagerly on his sleeve with all the impatience of a young toddler just informed a visit to the park was in order.

            “Hold your horses, cowboy.” Jackson encouraged, dumping the softened potatoes into a large bowl. “You need to let Daddy set these down first.”

            Nearly tripping over the energetic young boy on his journey over to the kitchen table, as Leroy all but refused to get any further than a few inches away from his person, Jackson sighed out of sheer relief when he was finally able to plop unto the wooden surface.

            “Plant your butt.” Jackson encouraged, guiding his boy into a chair. “I’ll be back in a second with the masher.”

            While Leroy did do just as he had been bidden, the young boy vibrated so profusely with energy that Jackson was thoroughly surprised to find that the boy had fallen right off his chair by the team he returned with the metal mashing utensil.

            “Alright, you little demolisher.” Jackson smiled, pressing the tool into his son’s slobbery hand. “You know what to do.”

             


	9. Chapter 9

            While fifty years ago Jackson could have honestly claimed to be able to feed his squirrely child blindfolded, he found that such a unique skill had all but vanished over the years from the expected amount of neglect and disuse that came with the aging of one’s children. For while he _did_ have the full rights to claim that a lack of a confining highchair was a terrible hindrance for any parent that wished to feed to an energetic child, he had absolutely no excuse whatsoever for his frustrating inability to even _coax_ the food into his kid’s mouth.

            “Leroy,” Jackson sighed, rubbing at his temples, “I _know_ you’re hungry.”

            Both stubborn and clever enough not to reply by opening his mouth, as Jackson had managed to slip a small spoonful of potatoes down his throat during just such an occasion, Leroy glowered petulantly up into his face and angrily signed his request for milk for what had to be the fifteenth time in as many minutes. Because while Jackson had been considerate enough to fill a water bottle full of chocolate milk for him, given that a regularly cup would clearly be far too difficult for the young man to manage at the moment, Leroy had evidently dismissed such a compromise as unworthy and mulishly refused to even consider drinking from the spout, much less touching the bottle itself.

            “We’ve already been over this.” Jackson reasoned, pushing aside the bowl containing the now cold potatoes. “We don’t have any bottles in the house.”

            And even if that _were_ the case, which it most certainly wasn’t, the most important caveat of such a possibility would be that there was absolutely nothing of any value he could put into the hypothetical bottle. For even _with_ the existence of nutrient-packed cow’s milk, the fact still remained that such a beverage would do absolutely nothing to fill Leroy’s painfully empty stomach.

            “Ore.” Leroy rebuttled, impatience finally compelling him to speak.

            Almost immediately made to feel quite stupid as his _toddler_ reminded him of the fact that he owned a convenience store _full_ of the requested object, a small establishment which was connected to his _house_ for God’s sake, Jackson felt a certain heat rising to his cheeks even as he tried, and failed, to reason away his idiocy with the excuse that he was overly tired.

            “Tell you what, Grizzly-Bear,” Jackson bargained, “You finish up these potatoes and we’ll go get you that bottle.”

             Receiving only a stubborn jerking of the chin in response to such an obscenely fair compromise, one that was remarkably reminiscent of the expression an adult Leroy wore whenever forced to contend with the slightest possibility he might be wrong about something, Jackson quirked a warning eyebrow at his son before letting him know who was in charge.

            “Those are the terms, you little terrorist.” Jackson declared. “You can either accept them or go to bed hungry.”

            Not at all surprised by the lengthy showdown that resulted in response to such an unmistakable challenge, as a four-year-old Leroy had once held out for _three_ goddamn hours when faced with the unpleasant and torturous request he comb his hair, Jackson settled calmly against the back of his chair and unflinchingly met his boy’s unblinking gaze. And, sure enough, Leroy happily made known the extent of innate stubbornness by crossing his arms against his chest and refusing to surrender until a full twenty minutes had passed.

            “Mean.” Leroy sulked, opening his mouth as angrily as possible.

            Charitably ignoring the childish insult, as he believed every child ought to have the right to express their opinions on that which affected them, Jackson simply smiled calmly into the face of his pouting child and funneled a very small bite of potatoes into the boy’s mouth, completely terrified that any portion larger than a walnut would cause his confused son to choke for the second time that day.             A fear which, while admittedly paranoid in nature, was almost immediately justified by the way in which Leroy swallowed his supper without even bothering to chew the spuds first.        

            “Good Lord, Leroy.” Jackson exhaled, cutting the next portion in half. “You need to _chew_ your food before you swallow.”

            Frowning with evident confusion as to why he was not currently being fed a second bite of one of his favorite foods, Leroy looked questioningly up into his face and brought his fingers together in a silent request for more.

            “Hold your horses, cowboy.” Jackson encouraged, stopping the second spoonful mere inches from his child’s mouth. “I want you to try and chew this next bite, alright? See? Look at Daddy and see what he’s doing.”

            Waiting until Leroy focused his eyes away from the spoon and unto his face, Jackson slowly moved his jaw in a mimicry of chewing food and patiently continued the action until, at last, his clever boy seemed to take the hint and replicated the motion.

            “Yeah, _just_ like that!” Jackson encouraged, rewarding his boy with a spoonful of spuds.

            Despite reflexively swallowing the moment his tongue was plied with something that tasted delicious, Jackson didn’t hesitate at all to give the boy his third bite and was, as a result, sufficiently ingratiated for his faith when Leroy remembered to chew a few times before swallowing.

            “There we go!” Jackson crooned, applying an affectionate kiss to his child’s brow. “You clever, clever thing.”

            Glowing brightly at such high accolades, as he had _always_ sought the approval of those around him whilst young, Leroy squirmed happily in his chair and opened his mouth for more – clearly very eager to demonstrate his newly-learned skill for a second time.

            “You’re _such_ a good boy.” Jackson further appraised, slowly funneling the food into his child’s mouth. “How did I get so lucky?”

            Far too preoccupied with the very important task of eating to focus on such a rhetorical question, much less give an answer in response, Leroy salivated openly unto his chin and impatiently tugged on his father’s sleeve in a silent request he pick up the pace – something Jackson was more than willing to do now that he knew his child wasn’t at any great risk of choking on the mashed spuds.


	10. Chapter 10

            Although it had taken a good half-hour just to coax half a bowlful of mashed potatoes down his confused kids throat, something that only ought to have taken ten minutes at the most, Jackson smiled softly as he placed the empty bowl in the sink to be washed in the morning – far too exhausted to want to do anything more than crawl into bed once his quick jaunt into the store was finished. And, sneaking a quick glance at the son he had left planted to a chair, it was soon made abundantly clear that Leroy was just as exhausted, if not more. For not only was said boy currently slumped down in his chair with a bleary expression on his face, so too were the child’s vivid blue eyes drooping lower and lower the more the night progressed.

            “C’mon, Grizzly-Bear.” Jackson coaxed, holding out a hand. “Let’s go exploring.”

            Groggily lifted his drool-covered chin off his chest, Leroy rubbed blearily at his drooping eyes for quite a while before finally mustering up the energy to rise on his wobbly legs and make his way over to his father.

            “Go?” Leroy questioned, looking thoroughly confused.

            “We’re going into the store, remember?” Jackson prompted, giving the fingers in his hand a tight squeeze. “Daddy needs to pick up a few things.”

            Not at all encouraged by the dazed look he earned in response to such a simple reminder, Jackson furrowed his brow for a moment and contemplated simply seeing his son into bed before venturing into the store on his own. For not only did Leroy look ready to drop at any moment, the statistical probability that a massive tantrum would soon ensue was only multiplied by the additional minutes in which the child was allowed to remain up. But, while that factoid _alone_ would have usually been more than enough to convince him to put the boy to bed, the unignorable fact that a toddler could get up to _all sorts_ of mischief when left unsupervised prevented him from acting on such a desire. Because not only _could_ Leroy get up to all sorts of mischief if he awoke and found his father gone, he most certainly _would_ if past behavior was anything to go off of. And, to be quite frank, Jackson didn’t much fancy the idea of returning from his brief store-run to find the walls of his house covered in jelly or the toilets clogged with rolls of woolen socks.

            “We’ll be quick.” Jackson promised, leading the pliant boy from the kitchen.

            “Ick.” Leroy warbled, nodding his head.

            Taking the simple utterance as a promise for complacency, Jackson smiled appreciatively at his well-behaved boy and gently lead the way into the outdated living room, its unchanged furnishings and wallpaper a seemingly welcome beacon for a young Leroy who smiled sweetly upon the rocking chair in the corner and looked with wonder upon the wooden toybox that had been repurposed into space-saving storage for all the extra blankets and afghans Anne had knitted throughout her short life.

            “Don’t get any ideas, Kiddo.” Jackson chuckled. “As soon as we’re done in the store, it’s time for bed.”

            Nodding meekly in silent understanding of such an edict, in a compliant fashion he might never have displayed were he not so thoroughly exhausted, Leroy reluctantly tore his gaze away from the enticing box settled near the fireplace and complacently trudged after his father without a single protest.

            “Watch your step, Grizzly-Bear.” Jackson advised, guiding his small boy into the dark mudroom that annexed the store to his house.

            “Down.” Leroy agreed, gingerly descending the small step into the mudroom.

            “Atta boy.” Jackson appraised, squeezing the fingers in his grasp once more.

            Leaving his small boy to revel openly in response to such a simple compliment, Jackson turned his gaze unto the combination-padlock securing the thick wooden door and effortlessly turned the numerical rolls until they spelled out the year and the month he had been lucky enough to marry Anne in.

            “There we are.” Jackson hummed, pulling open the perpetually-creaking door. “Come along, now.”

            Whilst normally quite bold when it came to exploring most things, especially those places which he had not been granted access to, Leroy seemed more than just a little bit nervous to enter the darkened store. For not only did he root his feet firmly to the wooden floorboards, so too did he tremble greatly as he clung to his father in an attempt to glean some much-needed comfort. And Jackson, never one to forbid his kid such a very important need, more than happily obliged as wrapped his arm around the frightened child’s shoulder and squeezed him close.

            “It’s alright now, Leroy.” Jackson soothed. “Daddy will turn the lights on in a minute, we just need to make it to the light switch.”

            Despite looking as if he would have very much preferred standing in the doorway all night, so long as such an action prevented him from having to journey into the darkness, Leroy nodded reluctantly and hesitantly allowed his father to nudge him in the direction of the light switch situated just a few feet away.

            “Go on, Leroy.” Jackson encouraged. “Give her a flip.”

            Instantaneously brightening at the very idea of being allowed such an important task, as Leroy had almost seldom been permitted to monkey around with the switches around the house, the small boy by his side beamed brightly and rapidly snaked out his very drooly fingers to bring light into the darkened store.

            “La-la!” Leroy announced, clapping his hands as light flooded the aisle.

            “Voila.” Jackson agreed, failing to contain a small smirk.

            All but oblivious to the harmless amount of amusement his father had gleamed at his expense, as well as far too delighted with the concept of being allowed into the store so very late at night, Leroy was gone from side in but a moment – disappearing just as quickly as a toddler was wont to in the scant few seconds somebody took their eyes off of them. But, rather than holler after the boy with the demands he return to where he’d just left, and risk waking the never-sleeping Ms. Cleves who lived next door, Jackson simply stalked off in pursuit of the mischievous little runaway, cautiously optimistic that no real harm to either property or child could have occurred in the very few seconds Leroy had escaped the watchful eyes of his distracted father. Because prone though he was to certain bouts of naughtiness, the boy in question had never been outright destructive or malicious in his exploration of the world around him – only reckless and ignorant of the danger such unsanctioned activities produced.

            And, sure enough, when Jackson finally _did_ stumble across the boy in Aisle 5, the long length of space containing the baking goods and supplies, it was to find Leroy harmlessly making a game out of shaking the containers of brightly colored sprinkles like maracas.

            “Leroy,” Jackson smiled, suddenly stumbling across a very brilliant idea, “Daddy has some shopping to do. You stay here in this aisle and keep watch on the sprinkles. Alright?”

            Glancing away from his very important task of shaking up all the sprinkles he could get his slobbery hands on, which was quite _a lot_ given their position near the floor, Leroy nodded once in a distracted fashion before turning back his focus onto a container filled with enticing edible glitter.

            “Leroy, look at me.” Jackson directed, using a very firm voice.

            Startled away from his play by such a sudden change in temperament from his father, Leroy carelessly dropped his sprinkles to the floor and looked quite somberly up into his father’s face.

            “I want you to _stay right here_.” Jackson ordered, gesturing at the very spot his son was seated. “Until I come and fetch you. Do you _understand_ what I just said?”

            “Leroy _stay_.” The little boy babbled, nodding sagely.

            “That’s right.” Jackson agreed. “Leroy stay.”

            Sensing that his boy was in full agreement with such an unorthodox arrangement, at least for as long as the sprinkles could manage to entertain him, Jackson raised one last warning brow at his son before hastily scurrying off to start his last-minute shopping.

            As was only natural given the small tantrum that had led up to such an impromptu shopping spree, Jackson first started his shopping in the aisle dedicated to child- namely the large section of said space devoted solely to the needs of infants and small toddlers. But, rather than select a few of the bottles Leroy had been so adamant about having, Jackson grabbed up a package of matching sippy-cups instead – figuring that the larger spouts of each would be far more conducive for feeding a grown-ass man than would the much smaller nipples of bottles. And, well, if the boy currently in his care didn’t like it, _oh well,_ he’d eventually have to give in once the hunger pangs became strong enough. Although, _hopefully,_ the varying dinosaurs on each of the sippy-cups would be more than enough to entice the perpetually-impressionable young man into acquiescing to such a shift in the bargain without _too much_ complaint. And, that most important of tasks promptly completed, Jackson then collected a small selection of colorful teething rings for the nefarious little slobberer to chew on before moving unto the adjacent aisle and hastily collecting a few packages of adult diapers and Ensure which he hastily buried beneath all the other supplies currently crowding his small basket.

            “Alright, Leroy.” Jackson called out, hurrying over to the aisle he had left his son in. “It’s time to get going.”

            Stumbling into the aforementioned aisle just in time lay witness to the visage of several thousand tiny sprinkles being flung through the air as Leroy finally managed to remove the cap from one of his makeshift maracas, Jackson cursed silently under his breath and then much louder as one of the colorful projectiles landed itself directly in his eyeball. A rare slippage of his tongue that would have otherwise delighted his young toddler, had said young boy not mistakenly believed himself to be in trouble for accomplishing such a great feat.

            “There’s no need for tears now.” Jackson soothed, watching as his child’s eyes flooded with tears. “Daddy will get that swept up in the morning. But, for right now, I think it’s time for bed.”

            Appearing quite astonished to find that he wasn’t in any sort of trouble for making such an ungodly mess, as Anne had once sharply rebuked the boy for scattering a five-pound-bag of rice around her newly mopped floor, Leroy nodded compliantly in response to his father’s statement and eagerly held up his hands in the universal request to be picked up.

            “I’m sorry, Grizzly-Bear.” Jackson apologized, holding out a helping hand. “But Daddy’s back hurts right now. You’ll have to walk like a big boy.”

            Despite looking as if such an assigned task was an odious one indeed, Leroy begrudgingly allowed himself to be tugged up unto his feet with the helping hand of his father who, despite his advanced age, was more than able to assist in such an affair without any significant damage being done to his person.

            “Ow Daddy?” Leroy fussed, looking into his face with no small amount of concern.

            “Daddy will be alright.” Jackson assured with a smile. “He just needs a good night’s sleep. And _so does Leroy.”_ He added, not wanting to give the boy any ideas.

            Rather than give an immediate reply to such an astute declaration, Leroy yawned loud enough to wake the dead and leaned himself heavily into his father.

            “I seepy.”

            “I can see that.” Jackson chuckled, gently tugging the boy along. “So lets get inside.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keep the reviews coming.

            Having once harbored the notion that there was nothing so hard in life as to try and dress a toddler who didn’t much fancy the notion of being prevented from going commando, Jackson was almost instantly made to feel the folly of such words as he realized, at a quarter past eleven, that was nothing so hard in life as to try and dress a _man-sized_ toddler who didn’t much fancy the notion of being prevented from going commando. Because if Leroy was not currently loudly protesting against the idea of being put into anything that _wasn’t_ his favorite pair of cow-boy themed footed pajamas, an article of clothing that had long since been given to Goodwill, he was most certainly doing his very best to prevent a shirt being placed over his head.

            “No, no, no.” Leroy whined, more fussy than bratty. “Ick.”

            Biting down harshly on his tongue to keep his temper in check, as the young boy could hardly be blamed for acting out after so long and stressful a day, Jackson counted to thirty inside his head before reluctantly caving in and tossing the flannel pajama shirt to the floor. Because as much as Jackson _loathed_ giving into a tantrum, which was almost much as he despised shoplifting teenagers, there simply wasn’t any sense in trying to force reason unto a currently unreasonable child. And while he would have normally stuck his tantruming boy into a corner until he _was_ ready to see reason and communicate his grievances as well he could, Jackson simply didn’t have the energy, of the heart, to be so stern on the first day of his child’s poisoning.

            “Alright, you little terrorist.” Jackson sighed, massaging his temples. “You don’t have to wear a pajama shirt tonight.”

            “No?” Leroy asked, cautiously optimistic yet suspicious all the same.

            Effortlessly spotting the dangerous gleam in his child’s rather expressive eyes, one that almost surely promised inevitable mischief, Jackson raised a warning brow at his errant child and quickly swatted the boy’s slobbery fingers away from the drawstring of his pajamas.

            “If you even _think_ of taking those pants of, Leroy, I’ll stick you in the corner.” Jackson forewarned, instinctively tightening the knot of the drawstring.

            Because as militant as such a dictate might appear to be for those who had no former knowledge of Leroy’s past toddlerhood proclivities, Jackson knew full-well that the only thing that would keep a diaper on the little nudist was a pair or well-secured bottoms. And, father or not, there was simply no way in hell that he was going to allow his boy to sleep naked next to him given the very high probability that said man might just pee himself in the middle of the night.

            “Ick.” Leroy whined, squirming in evident discomfort.

            “Grizzly-Bear,” Jackson sighed, a headache now in full swing, “I know for a _fact_ you like the feel of fleece.”

            Seeming to finally come to the reluctant conclusion that he wasn’t about to get his way anytime soon, an odious realization that was coupled with a very petulant pout, Leroy huffed loudly from his perch on the bed before dramatically burrowing himself beneath the layers of blankets and sheets available to him. But, rather than scold the boy for such blatant pouting, and run the risk of provoking yet _another_ exhausting tantrum, Jackson simply allowed the petulance to go unrebuked as he busied himself with the task of dressing in his _own_ pajamas.  

            “I doubt Tony’s going to want to talk to you if you’re pouting.” Jackson cautioned, effortlessly stepping into his cotton trousers.

            And whilst an _older_ Leroy would have most certainly realized the ridiculousness of such a claim, as there would _never_ be a time Tony didn’t wish to speak to his father, the harmless deception worked wonders in getting the sulking toddler to change his attitude.

            “Ony?!” Leroy questioned, wriggling excitedly beneath the blankets he had just cocooned himself within. “Ony!?”

            Thinking it would be highly prudent to assist the small boy in his attempts at resurfacing, before a full-blown panic-attack could ensue when inevitable failure reared its ugly head, Jackson sighed softly to himself before slowly making his way over to the bed to disentangle the trapped toddler swaddled within the linen confines.

            “Boo!” Leroy shouted, when at last the green quilt was pulled away from his head.

            “Boo.” Jackson calmly agreed, lovingly smoothing the boy’s ruffled hair. “What a little ninja you are.”

            Frowning in abject confusion at such an unfamiliar word, Leroy pulled his slobbery fingers away from his mouth and awkwardly tried to sound out the unfamiliar name with disastrous results. For, having clearly forgotten that he technically already knew how to formulate all vocal sounds, the utterance that Leroy ended up expelling from his mouth was something that would have made any hardcore Dixiecrat proud.

            “Leroy,” Jackson winced, “You can’t say that word.”

            Understandably befuddled as to why his father was saying the sort of words he, himself, was not allowed to say, as neither his mother _nor_ his father ever spoke forbidden words aloud in front of him, Leroy scrunched up his brows together and promptly uttered every toddler’s favorite word.

            “Why?”

             Thinking that he would much rather lop of the entirety of his right hand than go through another hellish bout with the dreaded ‘why’ phase, but otherwise far too tactful to voice said observances aloud in front of those who would be most hurt by it, Jackson sighed softly beneath his breath and wondered just how unlawful it would be to desecrate the grave of Tobias Plaskett.

            “It’s just not a good word.” Jackson calmly explained. “It’s like the F-Word.”

            Fuzzy brows scrunching up again, in his trademark sign of unrestrained curiosity, Leroy effectively sent a shiver of nervous anticipation up his father’s back – as such a comically somber expression had never failed to be followed with some sort of awkward or inappropriate question.

            “Fat?” Leroy finally managed, having had to search his brain for such a forbidden word.

            Thinking with no small amount of chagrin upon the notorious Thanksgiving in which a three-year-old Leroy had shamelessly repeated his father’s uncensored criticism of Anne’s aunt to his maternal grandmother, an observance that had tactlessly contained the words ‘fat as a tub of Crisco,’ Jackson cringed and strived valiantly not to think of the frying pan that had been lobbed at his head by the angry aunt in question.

            “Well, _yes_ , you shouldn’t call a person fat, either. But that wasn’t the word I was speaking of.”

            In much the blunt and unrestrained fashion he had inherited from his mother, Leroy, without any prompting of any sort, proudly gave voice to one of his next guesses.

            “Shit?”

            “Leroy!” Jackson scolded, flinching at the vulgarity. “That doesn’t even _start_ with an F!”

            Either genuinely confused in response to such a declaration, or elsewise simply gleaning enjoyment from monkeying around with his father’s sensibilities, Leroy scrunched up his brows in that infuriatingly worrying manner and spoke aloud a question that was almost impossible to answer.

            “What F?”

            “It’s a letter of the alphabet…you know, _abcde_ – Oh, for _God’s sake_ , let’s just give Tony a call.”

              Whilst Leroy would have ordinarily protested quite loudly at the experience of being prevented from receiving an answer to a question he had, the prospect of speaking with what was inarguably his favorite person in the world put all such grievances on the proverbial backburner where, in time, they would hopefully be forgotten.

            “Ony!” Leroy squealed, clumsily clapping his perpetually-slobbery hand.

            “Yeah.” Jackson agreed, smiling softly at the excitement on his kid’s face. “We’ll let Tony deal with you for a little bit.”    
            And while Jackson would have _normally_ felt more than just a little guilty inflicting a boisterous Leroy upon his grandson, _especially_ with the knowledge that the both of them had just experienced a very long day, he managed to soothe away his feelings of guilt with the knowledge that Tony _had_ specifically requested he be called before Leroy was put to bed for the evening. That such a time only happened to correlate whilst said toddler was experiencing a sudden second-wind of energy and curiosity was, quite frankly, only an untimely and unavoidable misfortune.

             “Ony bed?” Leroy fussed, with no small amount of concern as he watched his father begin the processing of dialing up his beloved agent.

            “Don’t worry, Grizzly-Bear.” Jackson humored, making no attempts to hide his amused grin. “Tony’s a big boy, he can stay up as late as he wants.”

             Not that such a privilege meant that the young man in question ought to _abuse_ it so frequently, but, well, there was only so much influence a grandfather was able to exert over his fully-grown grandchild.

            “Leroy big?” His child asked, a hopeful look expression lighting up his features.

            “Yes.” Jackson humored. “But _not_ big enough to stay up as late as he wants.”

             “Oh.” Leroy sadly pipped, looking quite put out.

            Unable to bear the sight of such disappointment on his son’s face, as Jackson was a big old softy at heart, he bent quickly over the bed to peck his son on the cheek before pressing the ‘dial’ button on his phone.

            “Nice try, though, Grizzly-Bear.”

            Mood instantaneously brightening in response to such a compliment, as there were few things a young Leroy enjoyed more than receiving praise from those he adored, the small boy beamed happily up into his father’s face and looked fully prepared to spring up unto the bed and jump into his arms. But whilst such a display was certainly touching, indeed, it stood to reason that such an action could very well earn the both of them several broken bones as well as a matching set of thrown-out backs. And rather than allow such a travesty to occur, and further compound their odd new living arrangement, Jackson acted quickly and hastily shoved his iPhone into the affectionate toddler’s hand.

             “Ony?” Leroy questioned, speaking cautiously into the phone. “ONY!!!”

            Cringing quite guiltily as he thought of all the hearing loss his grandkid was sure to suffer after such an untimely phone call, but otherwise far too exhausted to be _completely_ empathetic to Tony’s plight, Jackson gracefully slipped himself out of the bedroom and set off in pursuit of the kitchen, all but certain that the phone call currently taking place in his bedroom would be more than enough to distract Leroy from whatever mischief he might otherwise have gotten into whilst left alone in a room filled with boot-polish and fountain pens.

            But such calm assurance did not necessarily mean that Jackson chose to take his sweet ass time in the kitchen, as both instinct and several past experiences had showed him that partaking in such a happy luxury would only spill disaster. As any toddler, no matter how mild and well-behaved, would inevitably get up to some sort of mischief if alone to their own devices for too long. Distractions at that young of an age did, after all, only last so long before they lost their charm.

And so, with those slightly troubling thoughts in mind, Jackson hastily ripped open the package of sippy-cups he had collected from the store earlier that evening and made very quick work of washing them out with soap and water before rapidly filling them to the brim with one of the bottles of chocolate Ensure he had also had the prudence to grab. Because as tasteless as it felt it to be giving a toddler what amounted to as a treat in his sippy, a reluctance Anne would have more than likely shared, Jackson fully understood that the need for his child to have a full belly before bed greatly eclipsed any concern about the spoiling of children.

“Alright, Grizzly-Bear,” Jackson announced, returning to his bedroom to find a very drowsy Leroy listening to his agent with eyes half-closed, “It’s time to tell Tony goodnight.”

Despite having looked on the very verge of slumber before his father spoke, Leroy glared up into the face of his interrupter with an offended and resentful expression that all but promised mutiny until Jackson held up one of the sippy-cups in his hand and waggled it in his son’s face. Because while Leroy certainly adored Tony, to a very great extent, the need for food gradually won out after the small boy in question spent a good two minutes looking back and forth from phone to milk.

              “Bye-bye, Ony!” Leroy dismissed, forgetting how fragile iPhones were as he dropped the gadget to the floor and eagerly snatched the sippy into his hands.

            Hastily fetching up the phone before Tony could hang up, as he still wanted a word or two with his Grandson, Jackson spoke the SFA’s name loudly as he stooped and was immediately gratified to find that such an action alone was enough to keep Tony from hanging up.

            “Hey, Kiddo.” Jackson properly greeted, once the phone was to his ear. “How are you holding up?”

             “I already feel like I need five consecutive vacations.” Tony groaned.

            Frowning in commiseration with his overworked grandchild, Jackson took a few steps away from the frantically, and loudly, drinking Leroy and fretfully made an inquiry into the health and well-being of the man on the other end of the phone.

            “Is it that bad over on your end?”

            “I’ll live.” Tony evaded, his words garbled by a very loud yawn.

            Despite wanting to do nothing more than interrogate a more accurate answer from the evasive young man, Jackson refrained on the grounds that such a conversation could wait until the next day – after they had all gotten a bit of much-needed sleep.

            “Call us on your lunchbreak tomorrow, alright?” Jackson bargained.

            “Sounds good.” Tony managed, the words mumbled but decipherable.

            “Alright then.” Jackson yawned. “We’ll let you get some sleep then. I’m sure tomorrow will be a long day for the both of us.”

            Not even bothering to argue against such a claim, as he was normally wont to do when trying to assure a person there was no real cause to worry, Tony yawned once more before wishing his grandfather a good night.

            “Goodnight, Peacock.” Jackson returned, turning his phone off for the evening.

             And, placing the gadget in his bedside drawer, so that a curious Leroy might not awaken and make a game of trying to the phone to fly, Jackson turned to climb into bed only to find the Leroy endearingly reclined against a large mound pillows as he suckled at his empty sippy with eyes half-closed.

            “Would you like a bedtime story?” Jackson inquired, gently swapping out the empty sippy for its fuller counterpart.

            Receiving a markedly groggy nod in response, Jackson gingerly slipped into the bed they were to share for the evening and brought the quilt up over their frames, smiling slightly as Leroy almost immediately, and reflexively, snuggled close to him in response.

            “One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish,” Jackson recited from memory, rubbing the man’s back, “Black fish, blue fish, old fish, new fish. This one has a little star, this one has a little car. Say! What a lot of fish there are.”

            “Pish.” Leroy agreed, dropping his sippy as he fell asleep.

           


	12. Chapter 12

            Although Ducky would have much preferred to stay back at the naval yard in order to assist a harried Jimmy in dealing with the backlog of visitors who had been left neglected during Tobias Plaskett’s short reign of terror, he had found, much to the consternation of Vance, that his sense of honor and duty would not allow him any peace until he had made his way over to Stillwater and ascertained himself of the fact that both Gibbs men were alive and well. Because whilst Tony had frequently laid claim to the fact that he had called said household every night for four days, and subsequently come to the conclusion that all was as well as anyone could hope for in such a bizarre situation, it still stood to reason that a visual and physical checkup was a much better determinate for gauging the wellness and health of two gentlemen who seemed to be particular prone to minimizing their concerns and stifling their complaints. Which was precisely the only reason Ducky had abandoned his beloved assistant after only a meagre few hours of work to make the lengthy and exhausting trip to Stillwater on a Thursday afternoon – the particular day in question _usually_ being reserved for the picnic lunches both he and Jimmy liked to take in a nearby park for the benefit of the fresh air and sunlight. But, rather than unsympathetically bemoan the loss of such precious bonding time, an experience that could just as easily be rescheduled to the following day, Ducky simply exited his aging vehicle upon pulling up into Jackson’s driveway and strolled leisurely up to the front door before rapping on the wood as loudly as his sense of politeness would allow.

            _‘I do hope I’m not interrupting anything important.’_ Ducky fussed, rapping once more upon the door after a long two minutes had elapsed.

            Fortunately for him, as well as for the sake of his patience, fortune soon intervened in the form of a disheveled old woman walking her obese calico cat down the lane.

            “Oh, just go on in, sonny.” The hump-backed octogenarian advised. “Jackson won’t mind at all.”

            Despite being more than just a little familiar with the owner of such a home, Ducky still found that he was quite hesitant to enter the domicile unannounced, as he was neither family nor a long-time friend of the man who resided within. But, quickly coming upon the realization that his somewhat helpful assistant seemed fully prepared to bridge the gap between them for whatever suspicious reason, he shooed away his reserve almost immediately and stepped into the house before the woman could even take another step.

            Much to his great relief, it was not a gun-yielding man who greeted him upon entrance as he might have feared. Instead, the much more palatable visage of a softly snoring Jethro welcomed him, the young lad tucked all nice and cozy upon the couch as he clutched at his empty sippy-cup with one hand and a slobbery teething ring with the other. And while Ducky would never dare to do so with a slumbering Victoria, as the light-sleeper in question was prone to waking at the slightest of provocations, he found that the tenderness in his heart all but compelled him to tug the blanket draped over Jethro back up to said lad’s chin – as in slumber the heavy covering seemed to have drifted down his body several inches.

            “Can I help you with something?”

              Nearly jumping out of his skin as Jackson strolled into the living room unannounced, and subsequently broke the silence by speaking, Ducky gasped loudly and clutched at his heart before spinning around to greet his unwitting host.

            “Ducky,” Jackson smiled, features softening as he discovered the identity of his unannounced visitor, “How the hell are you?”

            Relieved to find that he wasn’t going to be shot for trespassing anytime soon, at least not now that his identity had made itself known via facial recognition, Ducky let loose a sigh of relief and inwardly cursed himself for having not had the prudence to call ahead in the first place. Because not only would said precaution have prevented a near heart-attack on his part, so too would it have prevented him from visiting at an hour when the subject of his visit was fast asleep.

            “I’m quite well, thank you.” Ducky managed, always striving for politeness. “I simply thought I’d swing by and visit for a spell.”

             Looking as if were the most natural thing in the world for him to stumble into his living room and find an announced guest, Jackson simply nodded in response to the explanation before gingerly extracting the emptied sippy-cup from his son’s hand.

            “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a little while to visit with Jethro.” The older man apologized, depositing the cup upon the coffee table. “It’s still naptime.”

             Understanding perfectly well the importance of such a sacred institution, as Victoria became quite the she-devil when not allowed to naturally rouse herself from a slumber, Ducky nodded to show he accepted such a stipulation and opened his mouth to offer a promise to return the next day. But, before he could so much as formulate the words on his tongue, much less expel them from his body, Jackson spoke first and summarily put all such thoughts out of his head.

            “Want some coffee while you wait?”

             Pleased to discovered that he would not be compelled to make such an exhausting journey the next day, as he doubted Vance would ever forgive him should he opt to leave work early twice in a row, Ducky smiled politely at his impromptu host but shook his head nonetheless, as even the very thought of drinking coffee turned his stomach.

            “No, thank you.”

             Although his manners were not quite so refined as Duck’s own, Jackson’s politeness was not to be deterred by a simple refusal of the first beverage he offered.

            “What about a soda then? You like Dr. Pepper.”

             Helplessly unable to keep the grimace from his face at such an unpalatable suggestion, Ducky’s face flooded with shame even as he prepared to formulate an apology.

            “That’s right.” Jackson smiled, shaking his head. “You’re one of them tea-drinkers, aren’t you?”

            Despite his distinct lack of appreciation for the mildly disparaging way in which Jackson uttered the word _tea-drinker_ , Ducky found he could not be anything but appreciative for the nearly-impeccable manners his host was currently exhibiting.

            “I’m afraid that I am.” Ducky confessed, hoping all the while that the older man wouldn’t feel compelled to go out of his way to accommodate such a decidedly unamerican preference.

            “Well,” Jackson shrugged, “I think I got some chamomile lying around – would that work?”

            “Certainly.” Ducky assured. “Thank you.”  

             Appearing quite relieved that his guest wasn’t going to request something far more difficult to procure, Jackson smiled brightly and clapped Ducky on the shoulder.

            “Let’s head into the kitchen then.” Jackson suggested, leading the way.

            Following quite meekly after his host, as Ducky had not been so frequent a visitor to the elder Gibbs home as Tony, he strolled quietly across the expanse of the cozy living room and was somewhat amused to discover that he needed to step over a baby-gate to gain entrance into the kitchen.

            “I see you’ve been busy.” Ducky observed, taking a seat at the small kitchen table.

            For not only was there yet _another_ baby-gate barring entrance to the corridor that contained the stairwell, a household feature that was similarly also cordoned off, so too was there an endless number of childproof locks attached to all the cabinets and drawers.

            “You could say that I have.” Jackson agreed, fetching from the top of the refrigerator a small box of tea. “ _You_ look as if you haven’t slept a wink in a week.”

            More than just a little horrified as he watched the clueless Jackson stick a mugful of water into the _microwave_ to be used for his tea, Ducky almost failed to respond to the somewhat impolite insinuation.

            “I’ll survive.” Ducky politely evaded, wondering just how much of the incorrectly brewed tea he would have to drink in order to satisfy the tenets of politeness. “But do tell me, do those gates actually work to keep Jethro contained?”

            “Yes, but only because he _thinks_ they work.” Jackson explained, depositing the mug of hot water in front of his scandalized guest. “And let’s thank the Lord for that.”

            Waiting patiently to reply until the older man had procured a refreshment of his own, namely an ice-cold Dr. Pepper, Ducky sipped reluctantly at his substandard beverage in the interest of being a gracious guest and inwardly cursed the original colonists for ever having allowed tea to go out of style in early America.

            “Is Jethro so very naughty?” Ducky finally inquired, once his amiable host had taken a seat of his own.

             “No, that’s not the word I’d use to describe it.” Jackson dismissed, pausing for a long drink of his own beverage. “I’d say its more… _dangerously curious_ …and adventurous. Leroy never did do anything deliberately naughty until Anne – until he was much older.”

            Feeling keenly all the awkwardness that descended upon the room after such a declaration, as hearing a widower refer to his deceased spouse was never a comfortable experience, Ducky busied himself with pretending to sip his tea and wondered, idly, if was not too late to dismiss himself from the house with the promise to return the following day.

            “I’m taking good care of him, you know.” Jackson abruptly declared, a slightly wounded expression showing across his features.

            Fully unprepared to be met with such a thinly-veiled insinuation, Ducky nearly choked on his tea and embarrassed himself by spilling down his shirt instead.

            “I – “

            “I know Leroy must have told you all sorts of things about our falling out but…but I’m taking good care of him.”

            More than just a little uncomfortable to find himself put into the position where he might needs be compelled to confess to all that Jethro had shared with him about the nature of said ‘falling out,’ the details of which were _far_ from complimentary, Ducky shifted uncomfortably in his seat for a short spell before settling for a little bit of diplomacy.

            “I know.” Ducky assured. “You wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble if you weren’t.”

            Appearing as if he could detect the small sliver of doubt within his guest’s mind, Jackson sighed loudly and set aside the bottle of Dr. Pepper he had been fidgeting with.

            “We reconciled awhile back, you know.”

            “I didn’t.” Ducky confessed. “But I’m very glad to hear such happy news. Jethro does tend to hold an unhealthy amount of resentment towards those he feels has wronged him – as I’m sure you already know.”

            “Believe me, _I know_.” Jackson confirmed, his smile filled with fondness. “But I really hope you didn’t come all this way for a chat that could have been had over the phone.”

            Despite the notable calmness with which Jackson spoke the second half of his response, Ducky could not help but feel he was being called out.

            “I’m afraid a small sample of Jethro’s blood is being called for.”

             “What?” Jackson frowned, genuinely confused. “Doesn’t the government have enough blood from the others?”

             “I do believe that…fresh blood is much more preferable for the researchers.” Ducky clarified, struggling not to sound clinical in front of the older gentleman.

            Grimacing openly at the poorly-veiled reference to the many deaths Plaskett had caused via poisoning, as no parent liked hearing that their kid had come close to dying, Jackson took to fiddling with the wrapper on his bottle of pop once more before answering.

            “Well, I supposed you had better get them some then.” Jackson reluctantly acquiesced, looking far from thrilled. “I’m sure Doc Greene won’t mind popping over on his way home from work.”

             “I could draw the blood just as easily, sir.” Ducky offered.

            “ _Jackson.”_ The older man immediately corrected. “And that sounds more than good enough to me. Hell, knowing Leroy, it might even be easier for _him_ to have a friend do it rather than a doctor he’s never laid on eyes on.”

             Thinking fondly upon the way in which Victoria steadfastly refused to even let anyone _near_ to her hair aside from her beloved Grandfather, of course, Ducky smiled openly and nodded his head.

            “Children _are_ often particular about that sort of thing.”

             “You’re preaching to the choir, Duck – “

             Interrupted from finishing the rest of his sentence by the sudden phenomenon of a newly awakened toddler launching himself into his arms, Jackson startled a bit and nearly spilled his soda before quickly recovering as gracefully as possible.

            “Hello there, Sleeping Beauty.” Jackson crooned, smoothing the boy’s tousled hair. “Did you have yourself a nice nap?”


	13. Chapter 13

            Struggling to breath comfortably given the oversized toddler currently seated upon his lap, Jackson did his best to keep air in his lungs even as Leroy squirmed about in pursuit of perfect comfortability and buried his slobbery face in the crook of his father’s freshly washed neck.  

             “Leroy,” Jackson hummed, thighs beginning to go numb, “Did you see who came to visit us?”

            Still somewhat sluggish after such a hearty nap, Leroy kept his face buried in the safety and warmth of the shoulder he had selected even as he squealed aloud his first of guesses.

            “ONY!?”

            Not at all surprised to discover that Tony was the first person on his child’s mind, as said boy had been relentlessly asking for his beloved SFA since the first morning following his regression, Jackson smiled in mild amusement and shook his head.

            “Afraid not, Grizzly-Bear.” He apologized. “Why don’t you take a look?”

            Feeling, rather than seeing, the frown his child displayed at such unwelcome news, Jackson promptly prepared himself for one hell of a tantrum only to be almost immediately disabused of such an assumption when Leroy finally removed his head from it’s hiding place and espied the Medical Examiner seated at the table.

            “Duck-Duck!” Leroy squawked, face all aglow with genuine surprise as he clumsily disembarked from his father’s lap.

            More than just a little oblivious to the way in which his clumsy dismount had caused his father’s groin a great deal of agony, the innocent little culprit all but flew into Ducky’s politely outstretched arms, the gusto in which he approached such a greeting very nearly causing him to trip over his own feet as two separate chair legs.

            “Hello there, lad.” Ducky greeted, wincing slightly at the bearhug he was currently receiving. “How are you?”  

            “Yes.” Jethro warbled, pruned fingers almost immediately flying into his mouth.

             Having had _more than enough_ of dealing with slobber every single time he made to escort his son someplace via hand, as a toddler Leroy could hardly be trusted to go anywhere unchaperoned, Jackson stood and immediately extracted the rouge fingers from his toddler’s mouth – as he was more than just a little determined to break such an unappealing habit by the weeks end. But, rather than cruelly leave his suddenly orally-fixated son nothing to slobber on, as really what sort of monster would forbid their toddler something so natural, Jackson swiftly pressed a purple teething-ring into the youngster’s grasp – an action that was all but immediately followed by said toy being unceremoniously shoved into the dark crevice that was Leroy’s mouth.

            “That’s his way of saying good.” Jackson clarified for his houseguest. “All that Cajun and sign-language Anne taught him kind of had him confused for a while.”

            Because as impressive as it had been at the time to have a toddler who could communicate so expressively via sign, as well as babble an endless litany of Cajun, all the pride he had felt as a parent of such a gifted child had been somewhat eclipsed by the manner in which Leroy seemed to struggle to conquer his command of the English language up until the first grade.

            “I always _did_ wonder how Leroy became such a hyperpolyglot.”

            Completely unfamiliar with such a foreign-sounding word, yet far too polite to make any inquiries as to whether such a noise was Scottish in nature, Jackson hid his frown behind his bottle of Dr. Pepper and inwardly resolved to look up the word the very minute his guest had taken leave of him. That was, of course, if could even _remember_ such a strange-sounding utterance – much less spell it.

            “I do admit I have always envied the ease in which Jethro seems to learn new languages.” Ducky confessed, tactfully explaining the word without making the assumption his host was stupid. “Such a skill is a very rare gift, indeed.”

            “Oh, yeah.” Jackson grinned, powerless to keep from bragging about his son. “Anne started him off _real_ young.”

            In fact, aside from the rather cliché utterance of _daddy_ in English, Leroy’s _true_ first word had been _mere_ – the Cajun word for mother. A little factoid that had endlessly delighted Anne up until the point it became the _only_ sound a non-mobile Leroy would make for the next several months.

            “I often think the schools here, in the States, should start their pupils off early as well.”  

            “It certainly wouldn’t hurt – “

             Preemptively cut short from what he was about to say by the suddenly invigored Leroy speaking over him, in a manner so endearing it forbade all scolding, Jackson simply shook his head in mild amusement and allowed the small boy free reign to share his enthusiasm with the world.

            “Duck-Duck!” Leroy babbled, tugging on the man’s sleeve. “Ook.”

            Somewhat mortified as he watched his regressed son gesticulate quite proudly at the gaudy bruise now decorating his forearm, as there was nothing less enjoyable then having a parenting mistake made known to a visitor, Jackson blushed slightly and only hoped that the Medical Examiner would understand that accidents were bound to happen in any home with a rambunctious toddler.  

            “Oh dear,” Ducky humored, theatrically serious, “Whatever happened to you?”

            Making a very valiant attempt at explaining the cause of such a minor injury, Leroy babbled away for a good three minutes before finally surrendering the battle and turning to his father for assistance.

            “Leroy thought it would be a good idea to stop the basement door with his arm.”

            And whilst such an uncharacteristic lapse in intelligence would have normally been relatively harmless, given the sheer size of the victim in question, the door to the cellar was exceedingly thick and difficult to maneuver.              

             “Ow.” Leroy helpfully contributed, poking at the purpling bruise.

             “Yes, I do believe you’ve sustained quite the injury.” Ducky charitably agreed, gingerly pulling the slobbery fingers away from the darkening circle.

             Having clearly not understood a lick of what had just been said to him, as Ducky tended to use a far more sophisticated vocabulary than most people were familiar with, Leroy frowned in confusion and turned his attention unto the much more interesting glasses settled on his visitor’s face.

             “No, no, no.” Ducky gently rebuked, grabbing hold of the errant fingers. “I’m afraid that my glasses are not for playing with.”

            “No, no, no.” Leroy reluctantly agreed, nodding to show he understood.

            Somewhat relieved to find that a tantrum hadn’t ensued as the result of being forbidden from playing with the enticing glasses, Jackson allowed himself to relax his stiff posture and take a victory sip of his soda – his feelings of euphoria at having finally returned Leroy to his usual state of easy-go-lucky more than welcomed after several days of having had to weed out the last vestiges of adult rebellion within his son’s being.

            “Cocoa.” Leroy suddenly announced, interrupting Jackson’s gloating session to reach for the mug of steaming tea within his reach.

            Responding quickly before any scalded fingers could be added to the list of minor injuries Leroy had accrued during the last several days, Jackson leapt up and selflessly yanked the cup away from his overly-curious toddler – his own fingers burning in protest all the while. But, rather than howl a series of foul explicatives upon receiving such an unpleasant sensation, as he was so sorely tempted to do, he simply clamped down on his tongue and waited for the discomfort to abate, not wishing to teach his child any new swear words on top of the word he had already learned from his short time in Abby’s presence.

              “ _Hot.”_ Jackson stressed, rapidly making the sign for such a word.

             “Ot.” Leroy solemnly agreed, effortlessly repeating the sign before looking around at the table for something else to play with.

             Not failing to notice the way in which the toddler’s eyes almost immediately zeroed in upon the fork Jackson had used earlier in order to fetch a pickle from its jar, said cutlery being quite shiny despite its many usages throughout the decades, Jackson sighed once more and promptly removed the potential weapon before any skin could be pierced with it. An action which, whilst certainly harmless enough, seemed to provoke the toddler in his custody to a sudden pique of frustration, as no doubt it was very irritating to have potential toy after toy removed from his grasp. But, thankfully for all involved, Ducky intervened in a fashion most timely _and_ successful before the impending tantrum could commence.

            “Say, Jethro, have you been well-behaved for your father?” Ducky distracted, gently turning the toddler’s head to face his own.

            Every bit as humble as always in matters concerning his behavior, which was to say _not at all_ , Leroy nodded vigorously and turned to his father for a vouching confirmation.

            “He’s been as good as he can, given the circumstances.” Jackson allowed, giving his only child a bit of leeway for the misbehavior that had plagued his person the first few days of his regression.

            “Well,” Ducky began, reaching into one of many pockets of his jacket, “In _that case_ , I do believe I have a little something for the lad.”

            And, thus said, the Medical Examiner in question pulled forth a purple motorcycle, the toy vehicle very clearly new given its shiny and undented appearance. Not that such a pristine condition would be allowed to remain so for very long in Leroy’s possession.

            “Here you are, lad.” Ducky smiled, pressing the toy into Leroy’s hand.

            Not even bothering to examine the small vehicle as most children would have immediately done, Leroy instantly threw his arms around Ducky’s neck in a childish display of appreciation and kissed his cheek.

            “Fanks, Duck-Duck.”

            “You’re more than welcome, Lad.” Ducky assured, gingerly extracting himself from the impromptu embrace. “Now, why don’t you give your motorcycle a little test-drive, hmm?”

            Clearly invigored by such a brilliant idea, Leroy immediately seated himself upon the wooden floorboards and began to go about pushing his plastic toy back and forth with the aid of two perpetually-slobbery fingers.

            “I hope you didn’t feel as if you _needed_ to bring him anything.” Jackson apologized. “I went ahead and dug out all his old toys from the attic.”

             “But is it not the way with small children to wind up shamefully spoiled?” Ducky quipped, politely dismissing the conversation at hand.

            “I suppose you’ve got a good point there.” Jackson allowed, smiling fondly.

            All but oblivious to the conversation being carried out above his head, or perhaps simply bored with the tedious topic of such a chat, Leroy clumsily crawled his way over to his father and tugged restlessly at the fabric of his jeans until full attention was achieved.

            “What do you need, Grizzly-Bear?” Jackson inquired, patient as always.

            Still nowhere _near_ vocal enough to be understood with just words alone, at least not by anyone other than his parents, Leroy brought an open hand up to his face before slowly dragging it away whilst closing his fingers together.

            “Leroy, “Jackson frowned, “I don’t much think Ducky fancies the idea of going outside to sit in the heat.”

            Because even though it was presently a balmy sixty-three degrees, the afternoon sun was out at full force and more than just a little capable of burning up any skin that wasn’t protected by either clothing or sunscreen.

            “On the contrary,” Ducky calmly dismissed, “For I do believe there is but few greater joys then sitting outside in the depths of spring to enjoy a nice cuppa. So long as _you_ have no objections, of course.”

            Suitably convinced that his guest wouldn’t be suffering any undue strain by being compelled to venture outside, as Ducky had seemed more than just a little genuine in his assurances, Jackson happy capitulated to his son’s earlier request and carefully assisted said boy up off the floor.

            “Looks like we’re going outside, after all.” Jackson informed the confused boy.

Expressive face almost immediately radiating his unrestrained happiness at such joyous news, Leroy bounced on his toes for quite some time before finally recovering himself well enough to snatch hold of Ducky’s hand and yank him toward the kitchen door that would lead to the backyard.

“Just a minute, just a minute.” Jackson encouraged, catching up to the duo at the door.

Frantically signing at a very confused Ducky that he would like the door to be opened, as he most certainly wasn’t allowed to do so for himself, Leroy was all but oblivious to his father’s presence up until the minute Jackson reached behind his head and yanked open the door.

“Leroy knows he’s not allowed to open anything I taped a red dot to.” Jackson explained to a befuddled Ducky, moments before said man was tugged impatiently away from the house.

Chuckling softly as he watched an exuberant Leroy pull Ducky after him as if he was no more than the stuffed monkey he seemed to favor at the moment, Jackson settled himself quite comfortably into a lawn chair and smiled as he played willing audience to the way in which his only child compelled a grown man to sit beside him upon an oversized picnic blanket and play at racing cars with the endless supplies of said toy littered all over the brightly-colored fabric.

             “My, what a fine collection you have.” Ducky appraised, genuinely taken aback by the sheer number of toy vehicles.

               Nodding happily in response to such kind words, even if he might not perfectly understand what they conveyed, Leroy tugged on his friend’s sleeve and politely made his response via signing.

            “Should you like me to play with you?” Ducky inquired, correctly deducing what the young boy desired without any parental interference.

             

             

           

             

 

             

 

 

             

           

 

             

 

 

           

           

           

           

 

             

             

             

 

 

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

            Having allowed his only child a good twenty-five minutes of unrestrained play with his closest of friends, a timeframe that had been more than ample enough to see Leroy’s shirt completely soaked through with sweat and stained by dirt, Jackson finally decided to call the unscheduled playdate to an end when he noticed it was becoming harder and harder for Ducky to keep up with the inexhaustible toddler at his side.

            “Alright, Grizzly-Bear.” Jackson announced, strolling over to the blanket. “I think it’s time we head inside for a nice cold drink.”

            Although Leroy looked as if he would much rather face-down an angry Ms. Cleves then cut his vigorous playing short, a more than understandable position given that he was a toddler, the young man in question was as obedient as ever as he reluctantly began to go about the arduous process of collecting his vehicles and placing them in the plastic storage bin allotted for their safekeeping.

            “There’s no need to appear so grim, lad.” Ducky advised, plucking up a handful of the colorful vehicles. “I shall assist you.”

            “Duck-Duck help?” Leroy asked hopefully, having not understood a lick of what had just been said to him.

            “Certainly.” Ducky obliged, scooping up yet another handful of the toys to deposit in the bin. “It wouldn’t be fair to make you do all the work.”

            Understandably pleased with such a pleasant response, as cleaning up the hundreds of cars by himself would be quite the Herculean task, Leroy approached his share of the work with great gusto, very nearly tripping over himself several times as he worked at the fastest speed he could manage to still be functional at. Which, admittedly, wasn’t very fast at all – but still, the genuine effort was there all the same.

            “You’re such a good boy, Grizzly-Bear.” Jackson encouraged, bending down to assist with the monumental task of cleaning up all the toy vehicles. “How did I get so lucky?”

            Not even bothering to pause in his cleaning to look at his father, Leroy simply nodded sagely and uttered his response in the single-worded fashion he was so accustomed to.

            “Yes.”

            “A very fine argument, indeed.” Ducky contributed, rising to his feet as the last handful of toys was deposited into the tub for safe-keeping. “What a clever lad you are.”

            Beaming as proudly as any toddler would when faced with such high accolades, Leroy grinned widely and nodded his head vigorously enough to resemble a bobble-head in an earthquake.

            “You’re making me dizzy, Leroy.” Jackson teased, placing his hand on top of the child’s head to stop the nodding. “Let’s head inside.”

            Promptly replying to such a suggestion with the sign for ‘fast,’ unquestionably one of his very favorite words in the entire world, Leroy bounced excitedly on his heels as he patiently awaited an answer and looked fit to burst as Jackson playfully took his time to answer.

            “Alright, alright.” Jackson grinned, after a good long minute had elapsed. “Go.”

            Not even pausing to express his gratitude for such an indulgent allowance, save for a fleeting smile aimed at his father’s face, Leroy took off in an instance toward the back door, his clumsy feet precariously wobbly but nonetheless steady as navigated himself across the grassy yard that had been so familiar to him in his youth.

            “Was that boy ever in track?” Ducky inquired, following after the toddler at a much more leisurely pace. “He’d have _certainly_ excelled at such a sport.”

             Trying hard not to frown in response to such a friendly question, as it was not fair at all to presume that Ducky knew about all the mischief a teenage Leroy had gotten up to at the height of his rebellion, Jackson swallowed down the sigh that had risen in his throat and answered the question as diplomatically as possible.

            “Leroy was a very busy teenager…I don’t think he’d have had time for track.”

            “Ah, well, I’m sure he was far too involved with nobler pursuits to want to substitute such endeavors with sports.”

            Unable to keep from thinking, with no small amount of bitterness, that there was absolutely nothing noble about getting piss-in-your pants drunk before stealing your father’s truck and rifle to go and terrorize your nemesis for poking fun at your mother’s death, Jackson grimaced vividly enough for Ducky to take notice and grow uncomfortable.

            “Are you staying for supper?” Jackson asked, eager to change the subject to a topic far more safe.

            “While I _do_ appreciate such a generous offer, I’m afraid I’ll have to refuse. I’ve been away from my morgue for far too long, as it is, and the longer I tarry the more visitors I’ll have to contend with when I return.” And, pausing there for a bit of breath, he added: “If you don’t object, I’ll simply collect a bit of your boy’s blood and be on my way.”

            “Of course not.” Jackson allowed. “I just hope you know what you’re getting into.”

            Because even though Leroy had been brave enough to climb up to impressive heights when he was small and unsupervised, as well as bold enough to laugh at thunderstorms, he never had been good at getting shots unless Anne was the one to accompany him.

            “He cannot _possibly_ be as terrible as Anthony when faced with a needle.” Ducky dismissed.  


	15. Chapter 15

It having been more than several _decades_ since Jackson had been forced to contend with a belligerently upset toddler, at least where genuine grief involved rather than frustration, he found himself somewhat thrown for a loop as he squeezed his loudly wailing toddler to his chest and waited for the yowling to abate long enough for his words of comfort to register within the distraught toddler’s mind.

“Leroy, you need to _breathe_.” Jackson frantically encouraged, slowly moving the rocking chair to and fro. “You’re going to make yourself sick again.”

Still far too distraught from the nefarious needle prick he had experienced a good twenty minutes ago to see any reason, much less recall the way in which he had both kicked _and_ vomited upon Ducky’s jacket, Leroy paid no heed whatsoever to his father’s sage advice and only wailed all the louder in response, the volume and intensity in which he used to convey his distress very nearly threatening to deafen the entire town of Stillwater as the troubled young boy brought his two index fingers together repeatedly in the signal for pain.

“I know, I know.” Jackson crooned, rubbing the sobbing boy’s shoulder. “But it had to be done, baby.”

Because as much as Jackson would have _liked_ to prevent such a traumatizing withdrawal of blood, as no parent enjoyed seeing their child suffer, he had nonetheless given into Ducky’s innocent request on the grounds that the benefits of the resulting research far outweighed any temporary discomfort a simple blood-extraction would cause. But poor Leroy, simple-minded child that he was at the moment, was all but unable to comprehend so advanced a concept as that espoused by believers in the proverbial greater good. No, all _he_ knew and comprehended from the whole unsavory affair was that he been cruelly pricked by somebody who he had once regarded as friend and, as such, had most heartily betrayed him by doing so.

“Would a new bandage make it better?” Jackson questioned, beginning to feel the first stages of panic. “How about a pretty green one, hmm, instead of that yucky brown one?”

Somewhat alarmed when the promise of a pretty bandage failed to excite his belligerent toddler, as a toddler Leroy had _always_ likened such objects to an enticing toy of the forbidden fruit nature, Jackson desperately racked his brain for a solution to the near panic-attack his child was experiencing. Because even _with_ being as modernly-minded as he was, which was quite so, he simply didn’t relish the thought of having to force a mild sedative upon his child atop of all the other drama he was currently experiencing.

“What about a popsicle, hmm? We’ve still got a few of those root beer ones you like.”

Becoming all the more frantic as Leroy immediately dismissed such a favored treat, as that had been the first time in his memory that such a refusal had occurred, Jackson shamelessly upped the ante in the hopes that his child would finally stop crying and start breathing regularly again.

“How about some ice cream, hmm? We’ve got strawberry!”

Completely taken aback when such a rare offering was promptly refused with an incorrigible whine and shaking of the head, as he could not recall a time in which Leroy had _ever_ refused a scoop of strawberry ice cream, Jackson frowned deeply and frantically tried to coax a solution out of his sobbing toddler.

“Tell what I can do to make it better, baby.” Jackson pleaded, holding the boy tight.

Receiving only a sudden influx of fresh tears in response to such an innocent question, the ferocity of which stole the breath right out of his kid’s lungs again, Jackson shook his head and strived valiantly not to lose his mind at being so suddenly helpless.

“What about a sippy full of pop, hmm?”

Once more having one of his generous offers declined, seemingly without reason, Jackson let loose an aggravated sigh from his mouth and only narrowly resisted the strong urge to give up and sedate and his child.

“You’re killing me, Kiddo.” Jackson groaned. “What about – “

Fortuitously cut short from finishing his next suggestion by the ringing of his phone, the all-too-familiar ringtone of such having served to shock a little bit of air back into the lungs of his only child, Jackson promptly fished the phone from his pocket and bonelessly surrendered it over to his suddenly cheerful toddler.

“Ony!!” Leroy announced, having not failed to recognize the significance of the ringtone.

“Sure is.” Jackson agreed, pressing the answer button for the small boy. “Why don’t you say hello?”

Casting his father a fleeting expression that seemed to convey the miniscule contempt he felt toward the thinly-veiled suggestion he would want to do anything _but_ speak to his favorite person in the whole wide world, Leroy huffed somewhat indignantly and promptly removed himself from his perch atop his father’s lap to take his phone call in what he assumed was the privacy of the playmat ten feet away.

“Ony!” Leroy whined into the phone, once properly seated. “Oke! Duck-Duck oke!”

Deciding that it would be relatively harmless to get up and stretch his dead-asleep legs by walking around the house a few times, as not even an earthquake would manage to convince Leroy to cut short his phone call to Tony, Jackson stood up with a groan and began to go about the tedious task of restoring feeling back into his limbs as his toddler actively expressed to his SFA all the grievances he now felt toward Ducky.  


	16. Chapter 16

            Although Leroy was still a little miffed with Daddy for letting Ducky poke him with that unfriendly needle, as he couldn’t think of _any_ reason why such a thing had to have happened, he took great care not to let his hurt feelings show _too much_ , as he honestly didn’t want to hurt his Daddy’s feelings at all – only show him that he had been quite wrong to hold him down while Ducky pricked him with that nasty little needle. Because even though he had claimed that such a terrible thing needed to happen, Mama would have _never_ been so mean about it. She would have simply hummed a pretty little song and entered into a staring contest with him, making all sorts of funny faces until Doc King suddenly announced they were all done and he could pick out whatever sticker he wanted along with a handful of grape suckers. But Mama hadn’t been there today to protect him, or hum her pretty little songs, because she had been poked by so many bad needles they had made her sick and bald and now she was Up instead of Down. And even though that made him sad, _very sad_ , he didn’t feel _too_ awful anymore because Daddy told him that when people go Up they get their hair back and they don’t need poked with the needles that make them sick anymore. Only it would have been very nice if Mama had been there today, because he hadn’t much enjoyed getting poked without a pretty song or a funny face to make it not hurt so much. But he supposed that wasn’t really Daddy’s fault, because he hadn’t been the one to keep poking her with those yucky needles – he had only _driven_ her there, even though it was obvious he didn’t like to do it because he always cried on the way back.

            “Leroy,” Daddy suddenly called from the kitchen, “Supper will be ready in just a moment. Why don’t you pick up your toys?”

            Knowing perfectly well that when Daddy asked a question he was really just telling him to do something with manners attached, unlike Mama who just simply _told_ him what needed to be done, Leroy started to pick up all the blocks he had been playing with as quickly as possible – because his Uncle LJ had once told him that it wasn’t very kind to waste peoples time by doing a job as slowly as possible. And Leroy _always_ wanted to be as kind as he could, because Mama had told him once that being kind was the best thing a person could be and Mama was _never_ wrong – except about the Tooth Fairy being real, because Leroy had _caught_ Daddy red-handed putting money underneath his pillow. But Mama hadn’t needed to know that because she _loved_ magic things and finding out that one of them wasn’t real would only hurt her feelings and maybe get her to thinking that it was _all_ fake. So Leroy had kept quiet about that whole entire affair, because Uncle LJ had told him that sometimes it was better to lie than to tell the truth. Not always, of course, but sometimes.

            “What a speedy little monster, you are.” Daddy encouraged, popping his head back into the living room to check on him. “Maybe we’ll have a treat after supper, tonight.”

            Thinking quite happily about the giant tub of strawberry ice cream he had seen in the freezer when Daddy had been searching for a yucky bag of carrots yesterday, the likes of which he had stubbornly ignored until Daddy swapped them out for yummy beets, Leroy moved even quicker to finish his job so that the chances of his getting a big scoop would be even higher. Because while he usually only got a flimsy little helping on the days dessert was served, sometimes if he had been _really_ good he’d get a Daddy-sized portion. And so, with those happy thoughts in mind, Leroy all but chucked the remaining blocks into the toybox by the fireplace he wasn’t allowed to touch and carefully closed the lid – not wanting his fingers to get pinched up again, because the first five times that had happened hurt quite a bit. It was only _after_ the lid had plopped shut that Leroy heard a very familiar noise.

            _Ding, ding, ding._

That was the store bell! The pretty noise that came from the purple button people pressed sometimes when they needed things from the store after Daddy had closed it for the day. Like Mrs. Murray and diapers for her bajillion babies or Mr. Echols and his big cartons of cigarettes. And even though Leroy was _sure_ Mrs. Murray only had a hundred babies and that Mr. Echols shouldn’t be able to run out of his cigarettes so quickly, Daddy was always willing to let them pop in and get what they needed – so long as they weren’t sitting down to supper at the time, because it always drove Mama _wild_ if someone tried to leave the table for any sort of nonsense. And so, without even pausing to collect his favorite purple teether from the floor, Leroy hurried over to the doorway leading into the kitchen and informed his Daddy of the newest arrival, because so long as they weren’t seated at the table yet, Daddy could go and help whoever needed it.

            “Daddy!” Leroy announced. “Ding-ding.”

            Looking away from the yummy cheesy noodles he was currently cooking at the stovetop, Daddy frowned and tilted his head in the way he always did when Mama said something he hadn’t heard the first bajillion times.

            “Leroy,” Daddy smiled, “There isn’t anybody at the store door. Now go and find one of your sippy cups. Supper will be done soon.”

            Although Leroy didn’t much appreciate not being believed, he reluctantly scurried off to do as Daddy ordered, the thought of strawberry ice cream still on his mind even though his hurt feelings made his tummy hurt quite a bit. But, much to his great excitement, the chance to prove himself came just soon as soon he returned to the center of the living room, as the bell chimed once more.

            “Daddy!” Leroy shouted, confident that he _had_ to have heard that one. “Ding-ding!”

             “Leroy, there isn’t anyone at the door!” Daddy argued, not even bothering to step into the living room to check. “Now come and eat.”

            Beyond frustrated at that point, because Leroy could _hear_ muffled voiced too, he stomped his foot angrily before sulking over to the kitchen door where Daddy was waiting for him with a frown on his face.  

            “Leroy Jethro,” Daddy scolded, raising a warning brow at him, “You do _not_ stomp your foot at me.”

            “Daddy, ding-ding.” Leroy tried to reason. “Ding-ding.”

            Only getting a frown in response to his argument, Leroy frowned deeply and briefly considered throwing his teether on the floor in protest. Only, he didn’t much think it would be a good idea to do that when Daddy was frowning so heavily. Because usually that was a pretty good warning sign he was about to get stuck in a corner for a hundred million hours.

            “Leroy,” Daddy said firmly, putting a hand beneath his chin to make him look up, “No more sassing. I mean it, now.”

            More than just a little insulted at the idea of being accused of being sassy, as he was never ever sassy expect for the times when he was, Leroy scowled in response to such nonsense and crossed his arms over his chest – like Mama used to do whenever she argued with Grandma about why she didn’t like it when she let Leroy ride on her ponies without a saddle or eat cake for supper.

            “Leroy Jethro, you have _three seconds_ to get that look off your face.”

            Deciding then and there that it was already far too late to turn back, as all hopes of ice cream were surely gone by now, Leroy shook his head and only frowned deeper, stomping his foot once again for good measure and to show how angry he was.

            “It looks like you’ve just earned yourself some corner time.” Daddy announced, as if he was somehow being fair. “Let’s go.”

            Although Leroy wanted to do nothing more than run away and hide before Daddy could drag him into a corner for a hundred thousand years, or maybe even longer, he reluctantly allowed himself to be guided over to the loneliest corner in the living room – because he had promised Mama he would never hide from neither of them again after the time he had sneaked out of the corner and gotten locked in the deep-freezer.

            “Two minutes.” Daddy decided, once Leroy had reluctantly planted his butt on the floor. “You know better than to get an attitude with me.”

            “Mean.” Leroy pouted, glaring down at the floorboards. “Mean.”

            Rudely ignoring him by walking back into the kitchen without another word, Daddy proved himself to be quite the word-he-wasn’t-allowed-to-say-out-loud. But rather than risk being kept in the corner for any longer than strictly necessary, as he would be an old man by the time he got out if he sassed anymore, Leroy bit down on his lip to keep himself quiet and stubbornly refused to even consider the idea he had deserved the time-out – even though he was positive Daddy was going to make him admit he was wrong before letting him out. Which wasn’t at all fair if you asked him, because he hadn’t _done_ anything wrong. Only tried to help out with the store, like Mama had told him to do whenever she had to go and get poked.

            It was only when he heard the muffled sounds coming from behind the store door that Leroy decided he needed to prove himself. As there was no way in the whole entire world that he was going to admit to something he hadn’t done, as that would make him a liar and Mama and Daddy and Uncle LJ always told him _never_ to lie unless it was to make sure someone didn’t get their feelings hurt or a surprise ruined. And so, with all those clever thoughts in mind, Leroy did the only thing that he could think to do – which was to crawl quietly to the store door and very gently poke the right numbers into the lock.

            He only realized that his plan might not have been such a good idea when he found the store full of strange people in scary black masks with big scary guns in their hands that looked nothing like the pretty ones Daddy and Uncle LJ owned.

            “Shit!” A very familiar voice hissed, from somewhere in a very dark corner. “Gibbs – Jethro, get down!”

            Far too scared to do anything but stare at one the biggest monsters in the mask, Leroy opened his mouth to call for Daddy only to find himself rudely yanked to the floor without any warning and dragged behind the counter as loud shooting noises filled the store.

             

           

 

 

 

             

 

 

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

            While Jackson could not honestly say that he had been one bit surprised to discover that Leroy had left his timeout almost immediately, perhaps the very second he had turned his back, he _had_ been completely flabbergasted when his impromptu search for the renegade toddler had ended abruptly with the small-scale shooting in his store. Because while he understood that his son’s work involved a lot of danger, to himself _and_ his loved ones, said career had never really endangered _him_ up until that moment.

            “Would someone like to tell me what the hell just happened?” Jackson demanded, once all members of the impromptu rescue squad had been given enough time to recuperate.

            All three members of his son’s team looking very much worse for the ware, despite them having almost immediately liquidated the culprits, he initially received only a unanimous groan in response to his fairly simply question.

            “Katie hit me!” Leroy unhelpfully contributed, still crying profusely in his lap.

            Frowning a bit as the brunette in question flinched guiltily, Jackson sighed softly beneath his breath and wondered just how it was that Leroy could manage to be so damn dramatic at the most inconvenient of times.

            “Kate did not _hit_ you.” Jackson calmly corrected, rubbing the boy’s shoulder. “She pushed you down to keep you from losing your head.”

            A quick _,_ and _wise_ , decision for which she had been thanked most profusely.

            “Kate _mean_.” Leroy continued to fuss, rubbing quite sullenly at the elbow he had bonked on his way down.

            Even though Jackson was all but sure there would be a pretty little bruise on the boy’s elbow by morning, to join all his _other_ mottled contusions, he swatted his boy lightly on the thigh for his continual attempts to make Kate feel guilty and then, before any protest could be formed, promptly plopped a purple teething ring into the errant toddler’s mouth.

              “I really am sorry – “ Kate began again, looking completely overwhelmed.

            “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” Jackson soothed, keeping hold of the teether in his child’s mouth so that he could not spit it out and protest. “Leroy’s just having a little fit because he was spooked, is all. He’ll get over it soon enough.”

            Getting a rather mischievous glint in his green eyes at such a calm reassurance, one that had Jackson more than just a little concerned, Tony grinned quite wickedly before leaning across the couch to whisper theatrically into Kate’s ear.

            “Let’s just hope he doesn’t remember this when he’s big again.” Tony quipped, gingerly readjusting the bag of peas he held over his rapidly blackening eye.  

            Although Jackson had _also_ been hoping that Leroy wouldn’t remember anything of what happened whilst he was small, especially the more embarrassing facets, he pushed that unpleasant thought aside in order to scold his rouge grandson for harassing the pretty agent squashed up next to him. But before he could so much as open his mouth, much less get a word in edgewise, Kate took action and defended herself as well possible given the situation.

            “Don’t you ever shut up?” She growled, digging an elbow into his gut.

            “I’m not so sure assaulting your lead agent is a smart idea, _Katie_.” Tony grunted, forcibly removing the offending elbow. “I’ll have you doing grunt work all week.”

            Despite knowing that his grandchild was far too much of a gentleman to ever retaliate against a woman in just such a way, superior status on the team aside, Jackson frowned and prepared to reprimand the young man only to have Tim beat him to the punch.

            “Are you two seriously going to do this _now_?!” Tim demanded, no doubt fostering one hell of a headache. “Literally half-an-hour after we all nearly got _shot_?”

            Given that the tension amongst the agents _clearly_ needed to be eradicated before any lasting damage could be done to the team his son worked so hard to form and cultivate, Jackson allowed the bickering to go unrestrained, figuring that a verbal battle was far more preferable to a physical one when there was a baby present in the room.

            “You’re just upset because Abby’s going to be furious with you for staining another shirt.” Tony accused, seeming to take great umbrage with the way his female friend had been addressed. “You’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight for sure.”

            Sneaking a quick glance down at his child to make sure the bickering wasn’t upsetting him, as Leroy really could be quite sensitive at times, Jackson was more than just a little bemused, as well as relieved, to find that the young boy seemed to be taking a great interest in the conversation going on around him.

            “Maybe you should just start dressing all in black.” Kate sniffed. “Just think of all the money you two could save if you could just combine your loads of laundry.”

            “And I’m _sure_ Abby has a few skirts she’d be willing to let you borrow until you get your own.” Tony jeered, wincing slightly as Kate forced his bag of peas back over his eye.

            Glaring as harshly as he possibly could at the two colluding agents, which wasn’t very harshly at all, Tim scowled and carefully readjusted his own bag of frozen vegetables over the exceedingly large lump rising on his forehead.

            “Since when do you two work together on _anything_?” The heavier agent groused, his usual amiability lost to the headache currently assaulting him.

            “Since you and your fiancée turned into terrorists planning your wedding.” Kate snapped, clearly still offended at some bit of wedding drama Jackson knew nothing about.

            Sensing that the insinuation that his fiancée was a terrorist would lead, rightfully, to Tim feeling compelled to defend his betrothed as vehemently as possible and _that_ would, in exchange, lead to Tony valiantly defending Kate as vehemently as possible, Jackson quickly stepped in before blows could be exchanged.

            “Is someone going to explain the shooting to me, or not?” Jackson demanded, not at all keen about the idea of listening to any more bickering.

            Stepping meekly up to the plate, as both her male cohorts seemed to be presently occupied with the mutual process of trying to keep their wounds properly covered, Kate cleared her throat a few times and spoke as evenly as possible for one who had just narrowly avoided getting shot.

            “Those four men that entered your store were the last of Plaskett’s sympathizers. They wanted to collect Gib – They wanted to collect your c-h-i-l-d so that they could try and use his

 b-l-o-o-d to replicate the toxins Plaskett created.”  

            Sincerely grateful that Kate had been prudent enough to spell out some of the words, as he wasn’t much in the mood for dealing with a toddler tantrum just yet, Jackson smiled politely at her before asking yet another pressing question.

            “And you’re sure that was the last of them?” Jackson interrogated.

            “Positive.” Tim promised, a little bit of blood dribbling down his chin from his split lip.

            “Alright.” Jackson nodded, not knowing what else could be said. “But when is someone…when is someone going to get them out of my goddamn store. I don’t want dea – I don’t want people sleeping in my store.”

            Because not only would he have to deal with the smell soon enough, so too would he be forced to contend with the nosiness of the several nearby neighbors who had heard the gunfire as well. And while he did greatly appreciate their genuine concern, as such good neighbors were rare to find, he couldn’t honestly say that he was looking forward to all the questions he was going to get in response.

            “Ducky should be over to get them soon.” Tony offered. “He probably just took a few wrong turns on the way over.”

            Suddenly perking up at the casual mentioning of the Medical Examiner, Leroy squirmed in his lap a bit before turning his head to frown quite pointedly at Tony.

            “Duck-Duck _mean_!” Leroy groused, pulling a very slobbery teether out of his mouth.

             “Yeah, everyone is mean, aren’t they?” Jackson patronized, making use of his sleeve to wipe the slobber and remnants of tears of his child’s face.

            Looking suitably scandalized at the very idea that anybody could accuse his beloved Tony of such a deplorable thing, Leroy leveled his father with a very powerful frown before quirking up his eyebrow in an endearingly familiar fashion.

            “No.” Leroy argued, failing to catch the irony. “No, Tony.”

            Simply smirking in response, as he didn’t wish to rile up the boy with any lighthearted teasing, Jackson shook his head at looked over the agents huddled on the couch.

            “You kids hungry?” He inquired, wishing to lessen some of the awkwardness Kate and Tim were clearly feeling.

             “Is that even a question?” Tony scoffed, slapping at his stomach.

            Finally looking away from Leroy to roll her pretty hazel eyes at Tony, which left only Tim to gawk at the understandably bizarre visage of his boss seated in the lap of his father, the skinny agent swatted her current team-lead on the shoulder and shook her head.

            “You’re _always_ hungry.” Kate accused, more amused than annoyed.

            “My voracious appetite only exists because I work so hard to keep this team running.”

            Neither one of them seeming to have noticed the derisive snort from Tim that came about in response to the insinuation that Tony worked hard, Kate charged on ahead without restraint.

            “Wow, voracious is a pretty big word for someone who can’t even figure out how to make a dentists appointment on their own.”

            Seeming no more bothered about the fact that his intelligence as an adult had been questioned than he was when accused of being obsessive about movies, Tony smiled his most dazzling of smiles and continued forward with the verbal spar.

            “It’s not as easy as you think it is, Katie.”

            “I _know_ it is.” Kate retorted. “Because I go every six months like you’re _supposed_ to.”

            “That seems a little bit excessive.” Tony tried to reason. “No wonder you’re so knowledgeable about all the dentists in the area.”

            Narrowing her pretty eyes in a manner that seemed to suggest she took his lack of seriousness about his heath quite personally, which was quite alarming when one considered just six months ago they had all but hated each other, Kate sighed and looked ready to slap him upside the head.

            “You’re literally at the doctor’s _all the time_. You should know how to set up appointments by now.” 

             Dismissively waving his hand in response to such sound logic, Tony offered up a retort that had everyone in the room aside from Leroy rolling their eyes.

            “Gibbs takes care of that. If the choice was _mine_ , I’d never go.”

             “If it wasn’t for me and Gibbs, you’d be _dead_.” Kate grumbled, sounding very much like an exhausted wife.

             “Well,” Jackson interrupted, “While you two are busy flirting away like two horny freshmen, I’m going to order up a few pizzas. Are any of allergic to anything?”

             Far too busy blushing, or in Tim’s case laughing, to answer such a simple question, Leroy took up the onus on himself and made known his own food intolerance.

            “Rots.” The little boy declared. “Ick.”

            “Don’t worry, Grizzly-Bear.” Jackson soothed. “I don’t think anyone puts carrots on pizza.”

            There _were_ some monsters who put pineapple on pizza, of course, but no such fools lived in Stillwater, thankfully.

            “Ick.” Leroy repeated, wishing to be taken seriously.

            “Ick is right.” Kate agreed, visibly gagging.

            “Pepperoni it is.” Jackson decided, tapping Leroy’s thigh to signalize he did get up off his lap. “Go play.”

            “No.” Leroy pleasantly agreed.

            Pulling his phone free from his pocket as he watched his kid immediately go over to the couch and plunk himself between Kate and Tony, effectively proving himself to be one of the world’s best cockblocking toddler’s, Jackson his amused smirk behind a fake cough and waited patiently for someone to answer so that he could put his order in.

            “Ony!” The baby whined, poking at his bruising elbow. “Katie _mean_.”

            “No, she wasn’t being mean.” Tony gently corrected. “She was just making sure you didn’t get a worse owie.”

            Only somewhat annoyed by the manner in which Leroy seemed to take everything Tony said as Gospel, Jackson shook his head but only sighed as he watched his young child immediately do a total 180 where regarded Kate.

            “Duck-Duck mean.” Leroy decided, finally leaving his sole female agent out of the equation.

            “Ducky’s _needles_ are mean.” Tony corrected.

            “Oh.” Leroy pipped, willing to agree with anything his agent said.

            “Any other grievances I can help you with?” Tony inquired, just as good with kids as always.

            Taking a moment to ponder the question, as no doubt the vocabulary used was exceedingly difficult to understand, Leroy stuck a few fingers into this mouth to better facilitate understanding before removing them almost immediately to touch the bag of peas held to his favorite person’s eye.

            “Ony owie?”

            “Just a little one.” Tony soothed, prudent enough not to remove the bag and show the damage.

            More than just a little pacified with such a simple answer, in a manner that an adult version of himself would have never been, Leroy promptly turned his attentions unto the agent he had just newly reconciled with.

            “Katie owie?” He fussed, looking at her hand.

            Taking the awkward situation in stride, in a very admirable manner, Kate smiled as convincingly as possible before holding up her hand to showcase a lightly bleeding finger.

            “It’s alright, I just broke a fingernail is all.” She assured, wiping away some of the congealing blood on Tony’s shirt.

            “Uh-oh.” Leroy responded, suddenly very somber.

            Barely able to conceal his amusement as a bewildered Kate watched her employer scurry off across the living room to his toy chest, and then fiddle with the clasp of such, Jackson coughed slightly to conceal his amusement and nearly choked on his tongue when Leroy returned to his agent with a first-aid kit in hand.

            “I hep.” Leroy firmly declared, taking Kate’s damaged hand as gently as possible.

            “Oh,” Kate exclaimed, taken a bit off-guard, “Alright then. Go ahead.”

            “You take good care of her.” Tony fussed. “She’s the only reason I still have any teeth.”

            Nodding his head solemnly in response to such a heartfelt request, Leroy endearingly spent the next three minutes riffling through the endless packages of bandages before touchingly selecting one of his favorite cowboy bandages to use.

             “He _must_ have forgiven you, Kate.” Jackson grinned. “He wouldn’t even let his baby have one of those.”

             “Oh,” Kate pipped, frowning playfully, “What happened to your baby?”

            Never once looking away from his very important task of binding up Kate’s damaged finger with a clumsily applied bandage, Leroy gestured vaguely in the direction of the cradle he had left his baby doll in and gave a two word replied.

            “Baby oke.” Leroy frowned, fetching some gauze from his little kit.

            “I see.” Kate humored, sitting very patiently as the toddler began to go about wrapping up her entire forearm and fingers in gauze.

            “It must have been more serious than we thought, Katie.” Tony observed, struggling to hide his grin. “What’s the prognosis, Doc?”

            Pausing a moment to tap at his chin, as he had seen his own doctor do a thousand times during his childhood, Leroy took a deep breath and suddenly looked very grim.

            “Pesis.” He announce, with the authority a toddler could muster.

            “Sepsis?” Tony frowned. “Uh-oh. Can you fix it?”

            “Yes.” Leroy assured. “Where we?” He asked, in a perfect mimicry of Ducky.

            “Oh my god.” Kate crooned, melting as Leroy kissed her fingers.

           

             

           


	18. Chapter 18

            While Kate had initially been very reluctant to interact with Gibbs whilst he was in such a regressed state, for fear that anything she said or did would be remembered by the man once he was fully healed and back to work, she soon found it became all but impossible to ignore such an endearingly sweet toddler – especially not when said little boy seemed intent on monopolizing all her attention in his very clear pursuit of making her a friend of sorts. A noble feat which he was currently trying, and managing, to achieve by proudly showing her his beloved antique doll.

            “Ook, Katie.” Baby-Gibbs encouraged, pulling down the purple blanket he had clumsily swaddled the baby in. “My baby.”

            Dutifully glancing down into the plastic face of the doll, as who was she to deny so innocent a request, Kate discovered the baby in question to be a smiling brunette with dark brown eyes.

            “What a beautiful baby.” She appraised, smoothing down the alarmingly sticky hair with one swift movement. “Does she have a name?”

            Although Baby-Gibbs gave her look that clearly conveyed her question had been a very stupid one, as what person _didn’t_ have a name, he was far too polite to say so out loud and simply answered the question at hand.

            “Kelly.” He announced, cuddling the doll up to his chest.

            “Oh.” Kate squeaked, trying hard not to flinch. “What…What a pretty name for a baby.”

            Seemingly oblivious to the way in which his choice of name seemed to wound his father, his memory having thankfully not retained any clear remembrances of his deceased wife and daughter, Baby-Gibbs smiled proudly at her appraisal of his baby and asked, nearly indecipherably, if she might like to hold the precious child.

            “Of course.” Kate obliged, gingerly accepting the small bundle into her arms.

            “Head up!” Leroy immediately squawked, looking very alarmed at the way in which she had situated his baby.

            Feeling no small amount of guilt upon the realization that she had forgotten the most important rule where regarded the handling of another person’s doll, as she had not played at mothering dolls with Rachel in _decades_ , Kate immediately corrected her posture and repositioned the fake baby in her arms until it resembled the fashion she would hold a real newborn.

            “ _Fank you_.” Baby-Gibbs expressed, comically grateful that his child was no longer in any real danger.

            “I’ll be more careful.” Kate promised, gently rocking the small bundle to and fro.

            Smiling brightly upon receiving such a sincere promise, Baby-Gibbs subsequently bent down to gently kiss his baby on the forehead.

            “Be good.” He encouraged the plastic doll, kissing it’s cheek.

            “Are you going somewhere?” Kate inquired, highly amused by the small boy’s mimicry of his father.

            Rather than answer her question straightaway, Baby-Gibbs fetched a plush block off the coffee table and pushed it into her free hand.

            “Babyspit.” He warbled, looking hopefully up into her face.

            “I see.” Kate grinned, gratefully accepting the block as payment. “And where will you be going to tonight, Sir?”

            Although Kate felt she could accurately guess where the toddler was going the very moment he blushed brightly, the small boy satisfied her curiosity nonetheless by grabbing as his crotch.

            “Wet.” He confessed, looking every bit just as embarrassed and uncomfortable. “Ick.”

            “Well,” Kate blushed, feeling just as awkward, “Why don’t you go to Daddy, hmm? I’ll watch Kelly until you get back.”

            Thankfully more than just a little understanding of why the agents in his house might not want to have _anything_ to do with that particularly personal facet of toddlerhood, Jackson swooped in and quickly intervened before any more awkwardness could ensue.

            “C’mon, Grizzly-Bear. Let’s go get you fixed up.”

            More than just a little relieved as she watched the two older men walk away, or rather waddle in the case of the younger Gibbs, Kate let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and relaxed against the back of the couch cushions.

            “You’ll make a good mother someday.” Tony observed, expertly swooping in to sit beside her now that the baby was gone.

            “I don’t think holding a doll takes any great mothering skills.” Kate opined, rolling her eyes.

            Not at all to be deterred from keeping her company, Tony grinned mischievously in response to dismissal and placed a cheeky hand on her thigh, his fingers landing mere inches away from her more intimate lady parts.

            “If you won’t let me compliment your mothering skills, at least let me laude your skills of seduction.” He bargained, whispering the words in her ear.

            Feeling her face flood with sudden warmth, Kate swallowed down the sudden lump in her throat before craning her neck to make sure that Tim was still preoccupied in the kitchen with the phone call from his worried fiancée.

            “Tony,” Kate whispered, not daring to be any louder, “Not _here_.”

            Ever much like an inexhaustible dog in heat, Tony edged his rogue fingers up even further before nibbling at her ear in a manner let left her breathless for quite some time.

            “My Grampa has a shed in the backyard.” Tony suggested, his growing arousal making itself known through the fabric of his pants. “It’s more than big enough – “

            “We are _not_ making love in a shed, Anthony DiNozzo.” Kate hissed, as loudly as she dared. “I’m _still_ picking splinters out after the dugout session.”

            And it was no mere exaggeration she made either, for just the other day she had been forced to explain to Abby why she had a splinter in her ass while she was modeling the bridesmaid dress she had picked out. And while her flimsy excuse of having sat on a wooden bench in a park seemed to have convinced Abby at the time, Kate knew there was no way in hell she’d ever be able to explain away to the more observant Tim why her hair was suddenly disheveled – especially not if he noticed that she and Tony had disappeared at the same time for an hour or so.

            “We could pop into the attic.” Tony suggested earnestly, pants threatening to burst at any moment.

            “I’d rather deal with the splinters than spiders, Tony.” She responded, resolve gradually weakening the further his fingers crept toward her lady bits. “What about the basement?”

            Judging by her clandestine boyfriend’s grimace that the basement would be equally unsuitable, Kate fully prepared to give into all her earlier qualms about such a trashy arrangement and suggest that they simply make use of one the vehicles they had driven over in – figuring that the biggest of them would be more than adequate to provide the space they needed for their rigorous lovemaking sessions.

            “If you’re worried about spiders,” Jackson announced, his return as sudden and unannounced as it was unwelcomed, “I’d stay out of the basement.”

            Hastily separating himself from Kate as if she had suddenly caught fire, Tony quickly placed a throw pillow over his lap and tried to hide his beet red face behind another.

            “Grandpa, Kate and I were just…We were – “

            “I _know_ what you were doing, Anthony.” Jackson calmly assured. “And all I ask is you take it someplace else. Preferably on another floor altogether.”

            Far too mortified to even look her host in the eyes, much less assure him that nothing of the sort would be going on beneath his roof now that the moment was ruined, Kate stared fixatedly at the wooden floorboards and waited for Tony to spring to her defense.

            “We’re probably not – “

            “Daddy!” Baby-Gibbs interrupted, with all the timing of a toddler. “Tony ick?”

            Struggling very hard not to laugh as the confused toddler pointed to her boyfriend’s hidden crotch in the nonverbal suggestion he had wet his pants, Kate placed a fist in her mouth and failed to contain even half her giggles.

            “Tony didn’t pee himself, Grizzly-Bear.” Jackson assured. “His lap just got cold.”

            “Blue almost.” Tony groused, understandably unamused at being cockblocked by his boss.

            “Ony blue?” Baby-Gibbs frowned, peering at his SFA in abject confusion.

           

             

 

 

 

 

 

 

           


	19. Chapter 19

            While Jackson would have ordinarily put his child to bed at nine on the dot, not only to stave off any crankiness but to allow himself a little bit of alone time, he had felt it would be outright impossible, not to mention cruel, to force Leroy to sleep when the excitement of a houseful of agents was still fresh within his mind. Which was the _only_ reason Leroy was still awake a full half-hour after his bedtime, warbling away happily to a bemused Tim about something or the other as the rounder of the agents good-naturedly began to stack up the young boy’s colorful blocks in as large a tower as possible. Which, given the sheer number of the wooden toys collected over the years, resulted in a tower that nearly came up to Tony’s chin, if not past it.

            “There you go.” Tim declared theatrically, placing the last of the blocks on top. “Our tower can’t possibly get any bigger than this.”

            Still seated upon the floor with his legs crossed in a very childlike fashion, the tower no doubt looked even bigger than it already was to Leroy’s eyes.

            “Fank you, Tim.” Leroy expressed, tugging on the pants leg of his agent.

            “You’re very welcome.” Tim assured, knowingly taking several steps away from the imposing tower. “Now, have at it.”

            Despite having been deprived of one of his very favorite games, which was to shock people by knocking over his block-towers when they least expected it, Leroy did not let that disappointment last for long, as the compensation of _still_ being able to demolish a tower was more than enough to appease and delight him.

            “Boom.” Leroy declared, lobbing a clumsy fist at the blocks.

            “Boom.” Tim echoed, watching the colorful tower fall with a notable fondness in his eyes.

            More than just a little relieved as he watched the friendly agent effortlessly catch a block before it struck Leroy flush in the face, as he had thusly thwarted a tantrum before it could even begin, Jackson smiled kindly upon the young man and thanked his lucky stars that his son had seemed to know what he was doing when he had begun go about assembling his team.

            “You must have a bunch of siblings.” Jackson assumed, having not failed to notice just how natural Tim was with his Leroy once the initial awkwardness of the situation had faded away.

            “Just the one.” Tim answered. “But I’m thirteen years older.”

             “That explains it then.” Jackson quipped, amused at the way in which the parental agent seemed to subconsciously remove a block from the toddler’s mouth. “You’re good with kids.”

            Although Leroy had been having quite some fun with making sure that the remaining base of the toward was disassembled down to the very last purple block, once that important task had been completed as successfully as possible boredom seemed to set in.

            “Go gin?” Leroy begged, interrupting Tim midsentence.

            Without even waiting for Jackson to intervene and declare a sentence, as both Tim and Kate were wont to do, Tim glanced pointedly at the clock on the wall and frowned.

            “I think we’d better start cleaning up.” He calmly advised. “We have an early morning ahead of us.”

            Despite not wanting to make anybody feel bad for something that wasn’t their fault, Jackson found that he could not help but frown at the idea of having to relocate to Leroy’s house in the city for the safety that such a proximity to The Yard provided. Because while he _had_ been fortunate enough to successfully coax one of the Montague boys into minding the store while he was gone, as well as the house, he didn’t much fancy the idea of having to babyproof yet another house, much less introduce his child to an environment that might very well prove to be unfamiliar and frightening to him.

            “Gin.” Leroy fussed, looking hopefully to Kate and Tim for assistance.

            Sharing an expression which seemed to convey they wished to take no part in the decision-making currently at hand, Kate and Tony grimaced and appeared all but ready to flee from the room.

            “You know what? I have another game in mind.” Tim expertly distracted, plucking up a yellow triangle from the floorboards. “Let’s see who can make the most baskets.”

             Looking on in sheer horror as Tim threw the wooden projectile without any real attempts at accuracy, as he _knew_ that throwing things wasn’t allowed at all inside the house, Leroy gasped loudly in clear apprehension of what was about to happen to Tim.

            “No tow! No-no!” Leroy scolded, yanking a second block from his hand.

            “It’s alright, Leroy.” Jackson soothed. “But only for _this_ game.” He immediately amended.

            Narrowing his eyes in clear suspicion of such a generous offer, as it was all but unprecedented in his young life, Leroy hesitated but finally plucked up a purple square from the floor.

            “I tow?” He asked, still slightly suspicious.

            “Yes.” Jackson calmly agreed. “But just this once.”

            Finally seeming to accept the idea that he was indeed allowed to throw something while inside, despite having previously been put in numerous timeouts for doing just that, Leroy nodded once before turning to his favorite agent.

            “Ony hep?” He asked, putting on his best puppy-dog eyes. “Katie hep?”

             “Of course.” The cuddling duo answered together.

             Wisely stepping aside as the block-throwing tournament began to commence, as he really had no wish to sport a lump on his head in the following days ahead, Jackson seated himself in the reading chair tucked away in the corner and patiently waited for the impromptu little tournament to finish. Which, given the number of adult giving their contribution to such a task, was not very long at all to anyone other than the toddler that seemed entirely exhausted by the end of it.

             “All done.” Leroy yawned happily, once the mess had been cleared away.

             “Good job, Grizzly-Bear.” Jackson praised, happily accepting the hug his son randomly rewarded him with.

            Nodding sluggishly in agreement, Leroy rubbed at his eyes and plopped a few fingers into his mouth.

            “I seep now.” Leroy decided, surprising his father to no small extent.

             More than just a little pleased with such a fortuitous development, as he not wanted to find himself forced to drag a reluctant man-sized toddler to bed, Jackson smiled brightly and hugged his child closer.

            “Good idea, Grizzly-Bear.” He praised. “Why don’t you say goodnight?”

             Sluggishly slipping away from his embrace to do just that, Leroy took a good deal of time wishing each of his agents goodnight with a hug and, in the case of his Tony, a kiss on the cheek.

            “We had a long day, didn’t we?” Jackson crooned, once he had successfully ushered his boy upstairs and into pajamas. “Such a long, long day.”

            Far too preoccupied with guzzling down his sippy full of Ensure to do anything other than nod in response, Leroy lazily kicked his legs a bit beneath the covers to feel the softness of the blankets on his toes and peered up at him with bleary eyes.

            “But it was fun, wasn’t it?” Jackson cooed, stroking his hair.

            “Ony.” Leroy agreed, rubbing at his eyes.

             Giving an amused shake of the head as Leroy once again made his idolization of Tony known, as it was very reminiscent of the way in which he had once worshiped LJ, Jackson donned his own pajamas and kept up a steady stream of conversation.       

            “Do you know what we get to do tomorrow, Grizzly-Bear?”

            “Eat?” Leroy asked, ridiculously hopeful.

            “Yes.” Jackson grinned. “But we _also_ get to go…camping. In a house in the city.”

            Perking up slightly at such exciting news, as there was nothing a young Leroy had liked better than camping with his father and uncle, the toddler flung aside his empty sippy and shoved  the majority of his fingers into his mouth.

            “Ity?” Leroy asked, words hopelessly muffled.

            “Yeah, it’ll be loads of fun.” Jackson promised, wordlessly replacing the fingers with his favorite purple teether. “We’ll be closer to your Tony, too.”

            Face brightening instantly at such happy news, Leroy grinned widely and kicked his feet a bit.

            “Katie?” The toddler inquired, moments later.

            “Katie, too.” Jackson promised, smoothing out the ruffled blankets. “And Tim.”

            “Duck-Duck?” Leroy pressed, clearly intent on having all his friend’s present.

            “Yup.” Jackson agreed.

            Pausing but a moment to contemplate how he felt about the entire matter, Jackson smiled in mild amusement at the simplistic answer.

            “Fun.” Leroy decided, eyelids flickering close.

            “Lots of fun.” Jackson agreed, kissing his cheek. “Goodnight, baby.”                       

            “Night-night.”


	20. Chapter 20

            Despite having only been a guest in Jackson’s house for less than day, Kate had taken it upon herself to fix for all the residents of said domicile a good breakfast, figuring that since she had awakened so damnably early she might as well put her sudden consciousness to good use by awarding her fellow agent and hosts a hearty meal of French toast, bacon, and scrambled eggs. But whilst her growing fondness of Tony was certainly a contributing factor behind such unprecedented kindness on her part, it was mostly the _baby_ she was going to all this effort for – as something about the toddler Gibbs had stirred up a fierce protectiveness and adoration within her. Which was precisely why she had chosen to scramble the eggs rather than fry them, and forgo the more crispier version of bacon in favor of a softer version.

            “My goodness,” Came a very familiar voice, “What do we have here?”

            Without even bothering to turn away from her bacon to greet the newly-arrived Medical Examiner, Kate smiled brightly and promptly turned the heat down on the burner so that she wouldn’t get splattered with any of the bacon grease.

            “Breakfast.” Kate shrugged, unreasonably embarrassed at being caught at the stove.

            Because as much as she had protested to be adverse to all those things a traditional housewife was expected to be good at, in some misguided attempt to prove herself capable in a male-dominated field, the very fact that she had managed to whip up a breakfast without burning it all but called her earlier claims into question.

            “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Ducky teased, nabbing a piece of bacon so quickly she didn’t even have to swat his fingers away.

            “Don’t make me burn your portions.” Kate cautioned, scowling at the smug fashion in which the Scottish man was chewing his bacon. “ _Or_ scorch your tea.”

            Becoming increasingly scandalized with each subsequent threat, up until the point he looked in serious danger of becoming offended, Ducky gasped softly and clutched a wrinkled hand to his chest.

            “Caitlyn Elizabeth Todd, how can you even – “

            Interrupted halfway through his very mild scolding by the sudden appearance of a very sleep-disheveled Baby-Gibbs, Ducky reluctantly cut himself short before smiling a greeting at the still sleepy toddler.

            “Good morning, Lad.” The older man greeted, graciously accepting the enthusiastic hug thrust upon him. “How did you sleep?”

            Frowning in abject confusion at the question he clearly felt to be bizarre in nature, the young boy furrowed up his brows and remained silent for a short spell as he tried to come up with a polite answer to so silly an inquiry.

            “Bed.” Baby-Gibbs finally managed, looking worried about the state of Ducky’s metal faculties.

            “Of course.” Ducky humored, his smile a genuine one. “But do tell me, lad, how did you manage to get into the kitchen without any help?”

            While Kate would have ordinarily intervened on behalf of any toddler being interrogated for doing something they didn’t understand was wrong, the guilty expression that spread across the little boy’s face was more than effective at vanishing such feelings of mercy from her person. At least, it _was_ , up until said toddler squirmed free from Ducky’s grasp and rushed to put his arms around _her_.

            “Katie.” Baby-Gibbs whined, clearly looking for a reprieve. _“Ick.”_

            Instantly becoming aware of the dilemma that had driven the usually well-behaved toddler to disobey rules and curtail a gate, Kate frowned in compassionate understanding and quickly set about to disabuse Ducky of the notion that the boy had misbehaved without any good reason for doing so.

            “Ducky, he’s soaked.” Kate explained, glancing down at the horrifically sagging pajama bottoms. “And Jackson is still probably sleeping.”

            “I see.” Ducky thankfully concurred, the smell of a stinky diaper finally overpowering the bacon enough to make them both blush.

            “You were just looking for a little bit of help, weren’t you?” Kate crooned, smoothing the gray and tousled hair.

            “Ick.” Baby-Gibbs responded, in full agreement as he shuffled uncomfortably in place.

            Thankfully having come to the same conclusion as everyone else that the changing of diapers was far too intimate an act for _any_ agent to do for their commanding officer, and likewise far too considerate to even entertain the idea of waking up his host to request he do a job he was more than capable of doing, Ducky heroically took the responsibility of changing the dirty diaper unto himself.

            “Come along lad, let’s get you fixed up.” Ducky encouraged, holding out a friendly hand.

            “Go on.” Kate encouraged, nudging the boy a bit. “I’ll let you help me out if you hurry.”

            No longer quite so reluctant to obey such an important request now that the promise of being allowed to assist in the kitchen had been put unto the table, Baby-Gibbs squirmed free from the protective arm she had placed around him and defected to Ducky, obliging accepting his hand and following after with nary a complaint nor whine.

            _‘Please don’t let Gibbs remember any of this.’_ Kate silently prayed, peeking into the over to check on her French toast. _‘He’ll have to kill us all if he does.’_

            But rather than dwell for very long on such an unpleasant thought, as it did no good to dwell on what _might_ be, Kate busied herself instead with the important task of getting a pot of coffee going for Jackson.

           

           

           

 

 

 

 

 

 

           


	21. Chapter 21

            While Leroy was _still_ pretty worried that Ducky was going to tattle to Daddy about him using a small suitcase to step over a gate and get into the kitchen, he was _pretty sure_ that Katie would speak up for him and defend his just like Uncle LJ would when he had done something somewhat naughty but for a good reason. Like that one time he had hid Mr. Fletcher’s ruler so that he couldn’t make Sarah Connor’s knuckles all bloody for sneezing too loudly in class. Or the time he had punched Robbie Lee in the nose for picking on the black kids for no good reason. And, even _if_ Katie didn’t speak up and defend him, he at least had a very good excuse for having left the bedroom – even if it was a little bit embarrassing.

            “Open up.” Katie hummed, holding another bite of French toast up to his mouth.

            Even though Leroy was still a little annoyed that Katie had suddenly decided not to let him feed himself after a tiny little bit of syrup had gotten in his hair, and on the floor and in _her_ hair, he happily opened his mouth to accept the delicious toast unto his tongue.

            “Yum.” Leroy thanked, grateful for her repeated minders to chew.

            “Is that so good, hmm?” Katie sang, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin.

            Not even bothering to answer the question, as he had already told her it was yummy, Leroy simply shook his head no in response to whether or not he wanted another bite and picked up his sippy instead, by that point far more thirsty than he was hungry.

            “That was a quite a meal you just had, lad.” Duck-Duck remarked, glancing at his plateful of leftover syrup.

            “Yup.” Leroy agreed, making the sign for more milk.          

            Wordlessly accepting his sippy from him, without even flinching at all the syrup on the handle, Katie smiled sweetly and had it refilled in seconds with the odd-tasting milk Daddy had been giving him lately.

            “Fanks.” Leroy smiled, glad he had been understood so easily.

            Because though Daddy, Mamma, and Uncle LJ always seemed to know what he wanted, even when he mixed the words up with other different-sounding words that meant the same thing, most of the times everyone else just scowled at him and asked Daddy why he’d let Mama teach him that nonsense Cajun.

            “You’re a thirsty little thing, aren’t you?” Katie asked, stealing a leftover bite of bacon from his plate.

            “He always is in the morning.” Daddy answered, suddenly coming up behind Leroy and surprising him with a morning kiss to the cheek. “But he’s usually _not_ this sticky…”

            Feeling protective of Katie as her face turned a bit pink, as it really wasn’t _her_ fault he’d ended up so sticky, Leroy frowned and tugged on his Daddy’s sleeve to pull focus unto himself.

            “No, Katie.” He scolded. “Leroy.”

            “Calm down, sticky-face.” Daddy shushed. “Nobody’s in trouble.”

            “No?” Leroy asked, suddenly hopeful.

            Frowning slightly, Daddy gave him that look he got whenever he somehow _knew_ what sort of trouble Leroy had gotten up to without being told.

            “Should _you_ be?” Daddy asked, raising a warning brow.

            Thankfully before Leroy could answer, and spill the beans on the whole affair, Tony interrupted them all by strolling into the kitchen with Tim.

            “What smells so good?” Tim asked, still half-asleep.

            “Kate cooked.” Duck-Duck answered, sipping his tea.

            “Kate doesn’t _cook_.” Tim argued, collapsing into a chair.

            “Not for _you_ , maybe.” Tony shrugged.

           

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	22. Chapter 22

            Although Jackson had been fully prepared to pack up the truck and ferry his kid off to the city to bunker down for the safety proximity to The Yard would provide, he soon found, much to his surprise and concern, that Leroy suddenly seemed to get withdrawn and sick-looking the nearer the day got closer to their departure time of noon. And while Jackson would have ordinarily just chocked that up to something Kate had cooked that didn’t agree with the child who had mostly been subsisting on large quantities of Ensure, the fact that nobody else seemed to have gotten ill off the food all but dismissed such a theory as nonsense. Because not only were Kate and Tony happily working in cahoots together to avoid the suddenly crabby baby, so too was Tim looking as hale and healthy as a Marine.

            “Perhaps he’s finally expelling the virus.” Ducky finally suggested, after yet another dirty diaper had been disposed of in haste. “It would certainly be likely.”

            Grimacing in concentration as he tried, and failed, to coax a fresh diaper unto the suddenly very defiant boy, Jackson sighed loudly and finally tossed the protective garment to the bathroom floor in frustration.

            “No need.” Leroy announced smugly.

            Having had all he was willing to take of such attitude, especially after an earlier fit had resulted in him being coated in literal shit, Jackson drew back a hand and firmly clapped it down on the bare bottom of his wayward child – not hard enough to leave a mark, but certainly forceful enough to leave behind one hell of a sting.

            “I think its time for your nap.” Jackson decided, ignoring the loud yowls from his child as he dragged him off to the bedroom they’d been sharing for the last several days.


	23. Chapter 23

While Jethro didn’t initially feel as if he had earned that earlier slap to his behind before being unceremoniously put to bed without any lunch, upon waking from his nap and coming to the horrifying realization he had likely been afflicted with Strand D, he was all but forced to admit that he had actually had it coming to him after the shit had pulled with his father. Because rest assured, if it had been Tony trying to get away with such crap, he would have taken the young man over his knee and paddled him until his ass was as red as a cherry tomato. But, as it was, it wasn’t Tony currently lying in bed with dirty pants and sore backside. Nor was it Tony currently lying in bed and bawling his eyes out, completely unable to stop the tears from flowing as guilt and shame flowed forth from his body.   
“You alright in there, Grizzly-Bear?” Daddy – Dad asked, rapping softly on the door mere moments after his tears had begun.   
Far too distraught with a sudden influx of emotions to give a verbal answer, Jethro simply shook his head no before remembering his father obviously couldn’t see through several inches of wooden door.   
“No.” He managed, mortified to hear his voice crack.   
“Can I come in, Kiddo?”  
Although Jethro was greatly reluctant to admit anyone in the room due to the very sorry state of his soiled pants, he couldn’t help but remember that his father had seen him in far worse a state in his perpetually-drunken teenage years. There had even been one time, he recalled with great chagrin, that he had outright pissed up into his father’s face after said man had struggled to get him into pajamas after he’d arrived home at dawn completely inebriated.   
“Please.” Jethro sniffled, hiding his face in a pillow.   
Slithering softly into the room as if he feared facing yet another tantrum, which was admittedly a very reasonable reaction after the events of the morning, his father soundlessly closed the door behind him and padded across the wooden floorboards before seating himself on the bed and patting his back – the loving gesture only briefly halted when the unfortunate discovery of the state of his pants had been made.   
“Oh, Leroy.” His father commiserated, voice full of compassion.   
Despite understanding that his father was by no means annoyed, but rather concerned, Jethro found that he could absolutely nothing to stem the flood of tears that escaped eyes at such a cliché utterance.   
“You’re big again now, aren’t you?” His father hummed, rubbing soothing motions into his shoulder.  
Somewhat embarrassed as he nodded into the pillow, as he was too uncomfortable to even look into his father’s face yet, Jethro swallowed down the lump in his throat and impatiently waited for the tightness in his throat to go away so that he might speak.   
“I bet your head is just full of all sorts of unpleasant things, isn’t it?”   
Only sobbing louder in response to the question, as his father was absolutely correct, Jethro clutched tightly at a pillow and only wished that he had Bear there to hug and squeeze.   
“It’ll be alright.” His father assured. “But, first things first, let’s get you out of those pants.”   
More than just a little mortified as he awkwardly waddled out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, as he wasn’t used to carrying anything on the inside of his pants, Jethro could feel himself blush brightly even as he yanked off his befouled pants in disgust and thrust them into a garbage bag for a later, and more discrete, disposal.   
“Leroy, are you done?”   
“Yeah.” Jethro sniffled, slipping into the pair of pajama pants he’d had the foresight to bring with.   
Stepping into the bathroom without even bothering to knock, not that Jethro would have forbade him entrance in the first place, his fatherly crossed the tiled floor in seconds and pulled him into a ginormous hug.   
“Did everyone on the team see me like this?”  
“Yeah.” His father admitted, still patting his back. “But only Ducky and I ever…you know.”   
Groaning loudly at the idea that his friend had seen to such a personal facet of his childhood care, but otherwise relieved his agents hadn’t had any part in that, Jethro frowned and buried his burning face in his father’s shoulder.   
“If it makes you feel better, only he and I knew you were wearing diapers.”   
“Everyone is gonna laugh at me now.”   
“Nobody is dumb enough to laugh at you Kiddo, and even if they did, I’d kick their butts.” And patting his bottom one more time for emphasis, his father smoothed his hair and squeezed him tight. “It’s alright, Daddy’s here.”   
And, just like that, Jethro knew that he would be.


End file.
